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FAVOURITE AUTHORS 

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The Saint of the 

Dragon’s Dale 

WILLIAM STEARNS DAVIS 




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The Saint of the 
Dragon’s Dale 

A Fantastic Tale 


BY 

WILLIAM STEARNS DAVIS 

AUTHOU OF '‘A FRIEND OF C^AR,” 

“ GOD WILLS IT,” ETC. 


And he wist not that his face shone 

Exodus xxxiv. 29. 









THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 


Lokdok: Macmillan & Co., Ltd. 


1903 


All rights reserved 


THE LIBRARY I 
CONGRESS. 

Two Copies Received 

JUL 2^ 1903 

^ Copyright Entry 

cuss' Ct mN». 

li,S 0 

COPY B. 


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Copyright, 1903, 

By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 


Set up, electrotyped, and published July, 1903. 




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Norhjoob ^re0S 

J. S. Cushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith Co. 
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 


TO 


LE BARON RUSSELL BRIGGS 

AN EVER KINDLY 
FRIEND AND COUNSELLOR 
TO ME 

AS TO SO MANY OTHER 


SONS OF HARVARD 


f 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 


PAGE 

I. 

Jerome of the Dragon’s Dale 


I 

II. 

Witch Martha .... 


14 

III. 

Maid Agnes .... 


26 

IV. 

The Dove at the Dragon’s Dale 


33 

V. 

Jerome is tempted of the Devil 

• 

49 

VI. 

The Herald of the Kaiser . 

• 

61 

VII. 

Fritz the Masterless 

• 

74 

VIII. 

Graf Ludwig .... 

• 

87 

IX. 

Harun knows the Way . 


lOI 

X. 

The Evening Light . 


”5 


vii 


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ILLUSTRATIONS 

Portrait of William Stearns Davis Frontispiece 


FACING PAGE 

^^^Give him the maid, Franz, and all the 

fiends go with her ’ ” . . . -33 


^ Back to Witch Martha ; back ! 
as you love me ’ ” 


Fly fast, 

. . 84 


IX 




THE SAINT OF THE 
DRAGON’S DALE 



CHAPTER I 

JEROME OF THE DRAGON ’S DALE 

|ATTER, patter, — the rain had 
beaten all day on the brown roofs 
of Eisenach. The wind swept 
in raw gusts across the rippling 
ocean of pines and beeches which crowded 
upon the little town from many a swell- 
ing hill. Under the grey battlements the 
Horsel brawled angrily. At the Marien 
Gate, Andreas the warder dozed in his box, 
wrapping his great cloak tighter. He had 
searched few incoming wagons for toll that 
day. It was very cold, as often chances 
even in summer in tree-carpeted Thuringia. 
Andreas was sinking into another day-dream. 


B 


I 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


when Joram, his shaggy dog, having opened 
one eye, opened the other, then started his 
master with a bark. 

“ Hoch ! hold ! ’’ cried Andreas, rubbing 
his eyes. Who passes ? ” 

“ Johann of the ^ Crown and Bells.’ ” And 
the warder saw the tow-thatched stripling 
of the innkeeper tugging a great basket, 
whilst his buff coat dripped with rain. 

And whither away ? ” quoth Andreas, 
settling back, as Joram ceased growling. 

The ‘ Saint ’ in the Dragon’s Dale needs 
his basket, rain or no rain — curse him!” 
And Johann’s broad mouth drew into no 
merry smile. 

Andreas crossed himself as became a 
pious Christian. ‘‘ Do not blaspheme the 
Saint. Ask his prayers rather. This is a 
noble time for the gnomes and pixies to go 
hunting in the Marienthal for just such 
blithe rascals as you. So pray hard and 
run harder.” 

Small need of this. Gnomes and pixies 
had been much in Johann’s mind since 
goodwife Kathe, his mother, had thrust the 
basket on his reluctant arm, and haled him 


2 


JEROME OF THE DRAGON^S DALE 


by an ear to the inn door. It was nigh as 
bad as wandering by night, to thread the 
forest on a day like this. As he quitted 
the gate, from east, west, south, was press- 
ing the green Thuringerwald, — avenue on 
avenue of stately beeches, lofty as church 
spires, graceful as the piers of some tall 
cathedral. He could see their serried, 
black trunks running away into distance, 
till his eye wearied of wandering amid their 
mazes. A clearing next, fresh chips, young 
weeds, a carpet of dank leaves — but the 
wood-cutters were gone. Then the path 
opened enough to give one glimpse to the 
westward and southward, toward the leafy 
peak of the Hainstein ; and beyond and 
higher, to a proudly built castle, — with a 
scarlet banner trailing through the rain, — 
the Wartburg, one-time fortress of the 
Landgraf of Thuringia, now the hold of 
Baron Ulrich, boldest and wickedest of all 
the ‘‘ ritters who watched the roads in 
these evil days which had fallen upon 
Germany. 

The glimpse of the Wartburg cheered 
Johann. Man was there — and what was 


3 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 

a robber-knight beside a redoubtable 
pixie ? Likewise, what likelier place for 
pixies than those glades just before? Jo- 
hann had not forgotten the wise tales of 
old grandame Elsa; and there it was, — the 
stone cross, where forty years ago the griping 
burgomaster Gottfried had been found lying 
stiff and cold, with purse untouched, and 
never a scar, save a little one behind his 
ear. ‘^He had gone to meet the Devil, 
and the Devil had stolen his soul ; ” so said 
Father Georg in church. It was heresy to 
doubt it. 

Johann was sure it was best to pray at the 
cross. He plumped on the wet grass, said 
two Aves and a Paternoster. At the last 
‘‘ Amen,” whir ! — went something off be- 
hind. A gnome? No; only a partridge. 
He trudged on happier. Now the glade was 
narrowing ; the trees thickened, the brook 
sang over rocks and sands. One could see 
the slim trout shooting in the pools. Johann’s 
stride lengthened. The forest closed all 
view. He crossed the stream on stepping- 
stones, and drew a long breath. Only two 
hundred paces more ! ” It had ceased rain- 


4 


JEROME OF THE DRAG ON* S DALE 


ing, but all the trees were hung with pearls, 
and shook down showers at every sweeping 
breeze. The air was suddenly grown warm. 
The last hundred paces, Johann seemed 
walking into a sheer wall of rock, whence the 
stream crawled from under a tiny fissure. 
What dwelt beyond — dog-men who fed on 
babes, or only ordinary and commonplace 
devils, Johann did not care to guess. Ten 
paces from the precipice he halted, crossed 
himself as a precaution, laid down the basket, 
and turned to a sapling whence dangled a 
rusty helmet by a leathern thong. 

Thrice he beat with a stick, and the metal- 
lic booms sent new quakings, not appeased 
by a voice which proceeded from the centre 
of the beetling rock. 

^‘Who is this that comes to the Dragon’s 
Dale?” 

“ I, Johann of the ^ Crown and Bells ’ ; ” 
and Johann’s teeth rattled. 

Have you brought the basket ? ” 

Surely, holy father ; bread and cheese as 
always on the first of the month.” 

Christ then abide with you and your good 
parents. In the helmet you will find the 

5 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 

accustomed payment. Now leave the basket 
and depart.’' 

From the helmet Johann took a silver 
piece, — a strange coin current amongst the 
Orient infidels. However, silver was silver ; 
it came from a holy hermit, and Johann’s 
chief need was a swift gait home ; so home 
he flew, his teeth a-chattering. 

For long after his going, absolute silence 
held the glade ; then seemingly out from the 
precipice emerged a man who walked straight 
to the basket and lifted it so easily as to con- 
vince a grave crow — the sole onlooker — 
that here was a mortal of wondrous strength. 
The new-comer moved in long strides which 
did not belie the mighty proportions of thigh 
and limb. Over his broad shoulders, scarcely 
bowed with fast and age, hung a brown sheep- 
skin jerkin, sewed with thongs, descending be- 
low the knees and bound with a bit of rope. 
Feet, neck, arms, were absolutely bare, hairy, 
and sinewy. How the face looked one might 
not tell, all hidden as the features were behind 
the unshorn snow-white hair and beard which 
veiled almost everything save two marvellously 
lustrous blue eyes. 


6 


JEROME OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


Without a word or look to right or left, he 
lifted the basket, and strode directly toward 
the rock. Not till the wall was arm’s length 
away could a stranger have discovered how 
one boulder thrusting before another opened 
a passage, narrow, tortuous, dark, betwixt 
the masses of sandstone. The defile was 
scarce wide enough for two to pass. Under- 
foot trickled a shallow stream. The stone 
walls were mantled with green moss and 
myriad ferns and harebells. Often the rocks 
locked closer, throwing the gorge into twi- 
light, or opening, disclosed the grassy hill- 
slopes fifty feet on high. The solitary went 
onward, heedless of gloom, until, after fol- 
lowing this uncanny path for nigh two hundred 
yards, the rocks sprang apart, and as by art- 
magic the long-prisoned sun burst forth, and 
shot his glory over the greenwood. Instantly 
all the beeches’ leafy clusters were glistering 
with diamonds, the sheen of the grassy slopes 
grew dazzling, the brook flashed on its way, 
with a rainbow in every ripple, whilst right 
over the massy Wartburg hung a true Bow 
of the Promise ” in full splendour. 

The stranger mounted the slope, till castle 

7 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON'S DALE 


and hills were clear in view ; then spoke his 
first word. 

‘‘O dear Lord Jesus Christ, if this Thy 
present world is fair, how fair must be Thy 
heavenly world, before which all this shall 
flee unclean away ! 

The speech was not German, but some 
strange tongue of the East, alien indeed to 
this northern forest; but the hermit only 
scanned the sky and valley once, then pressed 
up the hillside until in a hollow shaded by 
immemorial pines, and carpeted by their 
brown needles, there was a hut of wicker and 
of boughs, and from the damp wood before 
the entrance a stream of thin smoke crawled 
upward, whilst at the crunching tread of the 
hermit a beast started from the dying fire, 
growled softly, and wagged a bushy tail, — a 
yellow, white-toothed wolf, who raised his 
black muzzle to the basket, and mildly sniffed 
for bread, beseeching with low whines. But 
the strange man only spoke two sharp words, 
in the same Eastern tongue. 

^‘Down, Harun ! ” And the wolf slunk 
back to the fireside to switch his tail and eye 
the basket timidly. 


8 


JEROME OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


The hermit deliberately entered the hut, 
soon to return with a cake of coarse black 
bread. Again the wolf started, but the man 
rebuked him. 

First, we must thank God.** 

The man knelt by the fire, and the beast 
regarded in silence. 

‘‘We thank thee, O Father of all mercies, 
for food and for another day of life in which 
we may prove ourselves repentant of our sins, 
and more obedient to Thy will, sic oramus in 
nomine nostri delecti Domini^ Jesu Chris ti : 
Amen. ** 

The “ Amen ** was answered by a yelp ; the 
wolf rose on his hinder legs. The man broke 
the cake into halves scrupulously equal, and 
cast one to the beast who caught it with his 
teeth, growled gently, and began to devour. 
His master seemed in no haste to eat. It 
lacked an hour of evening. The slant sun- 
shine through the trees streamed in a witch- 
ing brightness. The air grew warm. From 
the pines bird answered to bird. The man 
went across the narrow clearing, drew from 
his girdle a keen knife, and cut a notch upon 
a sturdy fir. Many notches were there al- 


9 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


ready, some long, some short, forming a kind 
of reckoning. He scanned them carefully, 
clearing the moss from some with his fingers. 

Eight years ago, eight years lacking one 
month,*^ — he was speaking in the same un- 
couth tongue — this same day I had to quit 
Fulda for this place. The Abbot wished to 
make me esteemed a saint, and so draw pil- 
grims to the abbey. About this time I was 
assailed by the Demon of Spiritual Pride, and 
thought myself somewhat righteous. Then 
might I have fallen into his clutches and 
been burned forever, I and the soul of my 
Sigismund, but I escaped him, gloria Tibi^ 
Domine /’* 

The wolf had finished the cake, and gave a 
low whine to attract attention. 

“ You may go,” spoke the man, upraising 
his head, whereat the beast shambled away 
into the forest, and his master returned by 
slow steps to the fire. 

Eight and thirty years ago to-day? ah! 
what was it then? Mother of Christ, I can 
remember,” — there shot a gleam out of 
those wild eyes which made them like bright 
sparks, — it was the fete at Naples. Fred- 


10 


JEROME OF THE DRAGON’S DALE 


erick the Great, the ‘ Wonder of the World,* 
was there. With the French Count of Autun, 
and the Flemish Seigneur of Charleroi, I 
held the lists against the best lances of Si- 
cily, of Italy, of Spain. None unhorsed us, 
but I did best. They led me to the Em- 
peror; Mathilde crowned me. That night 
she and I walked together in the gardens, 
and saw the moon upon the shimmering sea. 
It was that night she said, — ** 

A convulsive tremor shook his frame. He 
dashed his hands against his breast as if to 
tear his heart forth from its covert. The 
words were nigh a cry. 

Oh ! all will come back. I cannot banish 
it. The fiends are strong, strong ! That 
day I slew the Aragonese, Don Filipo, in 
his sins. He forgot to confess ere he rode 
to the tourney. At the Judgment bar I must 
answer for his soul, for twenty more. O 
dear Lord Christ, I am too weak ! I cannot 
endure it ! I am lost forever ! *’ He passed 
his hand across his forehead as if to brush a 
mist from his eyes. My head reels. Yes, 
I kept from sleep. I ate nothing yesterday. 
But prayer and fast will not beat the demons 


II 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


away. I have been to Rome and to Jerusa- 
lem. Cui bono? Would God I dared lie 
down and die. But die I dare not, for I 
must redeem your soul, my Sigismund, my 
son.’* 

He looked longingly upon the bit of bread. 
The fast had been long, even for that man of 
iron. Nevertheless, he shook his head. 

Man may not live by bread alone. Let 
me first reward my evil memories with the lash 
that they may fear to return to torture me.” 

He hastened inside the hut. A bed of 
pine boughs and of furze, a coarse blanket, 
a water-pot, and above the bed a great silver 
crucifix and a brazen plate, whereon some 
Byzantine had graved a stiff Madonna and 
the Blessed Child — this seemed all the fur- 
nishing. But from beneath the bed, he took 
a short leathern scourge, its three lashes 
plaited with round balls of lead, — no toy, 
though swung by a girl. Slipping aside the 
sheepskin, he laid the lash with steady 
hand upon the naked shoulders. At the first 
whistle the red welts leaped out, at the sec- 
ond the blood, but under his great beard the 
strange man only smiled grimly. It shall 


12 


JEROME OF THE DRAGON'S DALE 


be forty stripes save one/’ had been his vow, 
and the lash whistled on, whilst he uttered 
two names at every blow, Jesu ! Sigismund ! 
Sigismund ! Jesu ! ” 

Then suddenly the scourge sank. Human 
feet were sounding on the piney carpet. 
Then a voice, not his own, was calling him 
by name. 

Jerome! Jerome of the Dragon’s Dale I 
As you love our Lord, — out ! ” 

And to discover this unwonted intruder, 
Jerome donned his sheepskin, and issued 
forth in haste. 



13 



CHAPTER II 

WITCH MARTHA 

as Jerome quitted the hut, he 
^ neither man nor maid, but 
y two huge, black ravens, which 
V to his shoulders, as to a 
familiar perch ; whereat the one on the right, 
cocking his glossy wicked head, croaked out 
a doggerel couplet : — 

** Good Christian, look out ! 

The Devil’s about ! ” 

To which his mate made instant answer 
with still saucier quirk of head and bill : — 

‘‘ Ho, he ! Never fear ! 

Pm Satan ! I’m here ! ” 

Jerome crossed his breast, but he did not 
thrust these blasphemers off. Nevertheless a 
shrill voice from behind a great black fir 
commanded sharply : — 



14 


WITCH MARTHA 


^^Zodok, Zebek, — sons of Beherit and 
grandsons of Lucifer, — back, both of you, 
and fear the sign of the cross/^ 

Whereupon with a whir, sudden as that 
which had brought them, the inky pair were 
gone toward the summons. Jerome had 
fixed his beetling eyebrows upon the black 
fir tree. 

Martha, you child of Perdition.” 

^^Here, and very much at your service, 
Sanctissime^'^ came back the feminine voice, 
half mocking, half respectful. 

Saint me no saints, or if my curse avails 
with God or angel, you receive it. What 
brings you again, witch and necromancer, 
abhorred by all save the Father Devil? ” 

Bene die te, thanks to you for such sweet- 
ness. Well, I have a work for you more 
pleasing to God than scourges and fasting.” 

‘‘Work from you? Can any good thing 
come out of you, O spawn of Beelzebub ? ” 

“ ‘ Can any good thing come out of Naza- 
reth?’ ay, so the Jews said, and mayhap 
quite rightly.” Here all the glade reechoed 
with a long shrieking laugh, whilst Zodok and 
Zebek croaked gleefully. 

15 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


But Jerome’s great head had sunk upon his 
breast. 

Mea culpa y mea culpa ; who am I to cast 
the first stone against this woman ? ” 

Well, ” demanded the shrill voice, may 
I come forth ? ” 

Come forth.” 

And with a rustle there came from her 
shelter a woman — but what a woman ! For 
her head would have risen only to Jerome’s 
breast, but her girth nigh equalled her height, 
or surpassed it. She had a weazened pock- 
marked little face, a very small mouth, still 
smaller black eyes, an exceedingly shrewd, 
upturned nose, and when she spoke her teeth 
shone white and sharp as Harun’s. Black was 
her kirtle, black the kerchief which trailed 
over grey locks and over shoulders, black 
her shoes when they peeped from under 
her dress, but Jerome (had the hermit 
an eye for such vanities) would have said 
that those feet were very small, and the 
hands small, too, and white, — hands which 
many a princely dame in Goslar or Hilde- 
sheim would have done well to envy. The 
ravens sat on either shoulder, winking their 

i6 


WITCH MARTHA 


sinful eyes and waiting new chance for 
croaking. 

Jerome’s attitude was sufficiently uncon- 
ciliatory. He made not the least sign of 
greeting her. 

^^Have I not bidden you to come no 
more?” was all that he demanded. 

The small nose turned itself up in derision. 

You have.” 

And have I not eschewed all the world, 
abandoned myself these many years to soli- 
tude and austerities, such as my weak flesh 
can bear,” and the hermit sighed modestly, 
“ and yet you approach to tempt me ? A man 
would be sufficient emissary from Satan, 
and you — a woman — ” 

Again the greenwood rang with laughter. 

O Lord Jesus Christ ! run, tell Thy 
Father He made a sad mistake, when He 
made us womankind. Jerome of the Dragon’s 
Dale is wiser ! He knows we are only fiends 
let loose from hell.” 

Silence, sorceress ! declare your errand, 
and briefly.” 

The witch looked at him out of her little 
eyes with a sly quirk, very like that of Zebek, 
c 17 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


Ulrich of the Wartburg — began she. 

A sinful man even amongst sinners,’^ as- 
sented the hermit. 

Has been on a raid.^* 

He has done the like before ; God assoil 
him — which I very much doubt. 

‘'And he has taken a prisoner.” 

“ Our Lady soften those beasts’ hearts that 
they demand a reasonable ransom. Ulrich 
commonly slaughters.” 

Martha looked on the hermit more keenly 
than ever. “ Hark you, Jerome of the 
Dragon’s Dale ; the prisoner is no man to 
put to ransom, or to meet his doom with 
brave brow. Ulrich has taken a little maid.” 

“ Jesu ! ” — Jerome crossed himself, 

“ And she is nobly born, — a wisp of a girl, 
a lamb amongst worse than wolves.” 

The hermit stared hard. 

“ How know you this ? Ulrich has been a 
king of fiends, and all his men apt vassals 
for their master, yet he has always stopped 
short of whithering off women. He has 
sought purses, not prisoners of that kind.” 

Witch Martha took a step nearer. “ How 
do I know it ? Well — to a sheep-eyed Eise- 

i8 


WITCH MARTHA 


nach lad I might say I bestrode my crook, 
and Zodok and Zebek grew forty fold larger, 
and flapped me up to the Wart burg on their 
backs. But since I speak to a saint, a man 
who has never known blood, nor sin, nor pas- 
sion,” — Jerome winced at the irony but did 
not rebuke her, — I will say this. First, I was 
in the thicket by the road below the Madel- 
stein, and saw our noble baron riding home 
with his prey ; second, because Anna a poor 
wench at the castle has just come to me for 
a philter to charm back a laggard lover. And 
so I got the whole story.” 

But the maid? ” 

‘‘ Is noble, I tell you, yet scarce a child of 
twelve. They slew all her company. For 
after Ulrich had bidden to ‘stand and un- 
sack,* he grew frightened, for he found he 
had stopped too great folk to let them go 
their ways, too great to put to ransom. So 
it was out swords, and trust that graves in 
the forest will tell no tales. Only the maid 
he spared.** 

“ For what end? ** demanded the hermit. 

“ For what use are women put in such 
dens as the Wartburg? Perhaps Priest Clem- 

19 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


ent cried out for her. But praised be St. 
Nicholas, — she is over young for him ! 

‘‘I must pray,** quoth Jerome very de- 
liberately. 

‘‘While the angels weep, and God our 
Father wonders why he has spared you so 
long from burning.** 

“Why that reproach from you, woman?** 

“ He ! ho ! Our Saint has still his pride, 
because if you were a ritter with twelve- 
score lanzknechts it would be a crying sin to 
be so nigh the Wartburg, and never wing a 
shaft for rescue ; while you, the Saint of the 
Dragon*s Dale, who have the power of seven 
ritter s, mock God by saying, ‘ I must pray,* 
and leave Ulrich to work out his evil will.** 

Jerome stared still harder. 

“ I am a man of peace and vowed to the 
works thereof.** 

“ And to Ulrich of the Wartburg is not the 
little finger of a saint thicker than the loins 
of a markgraf? ** 

“ Saint ? Have I not commanded — • ? ** 

Witch Martha threw up her little hands, 
while her fat body swayed with laughter. 

“ Oh, think yourself Satan*s twin brother if 


20 


WITCH MARTHA 


you will ! But you know all Thuringia calls 
you the ‘ Saint of the Dragon’s Dale,’ — and 
just because you will keep yourself aloof and 
see but three men in a twelvemonth your 
fame grows. Ay, this very night there will 
be five hundred souls from Gotha to Mein- 
ingen who will add, ^ Sancte Hieronyme Eise- 
nach(z ora pro nobis' after they have peti- 
tioned St. James and Our Lady.” 

‘‘ These things must not be ; ” the hermit’s 
forehead was almost turning white. 

These things are / and Ulrich and all his 
crew, if they love saints little, fear them much. 
Therefore go to him boldly and demand from 
him the maid.” 

And if he refuse? ” pressed Jerome. 

‘‘ He will not refuse, yet if he slay you, are 
there no glories for the martyr? ” 

The hermit took a step toward her. 

I will go.” 

That was all he said. As he approached she 
moved back noiselessly, as by some occult 
power ; her round little body seemed to glide, 
— not walk. In an instant she vanished, with 
only Zebek’s hoarse call to die away in the 
depths of the forest. 


21 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


** Ho, he ! Never fear ! 

I’m Satan ! I’m here I ” 

Jerome went into the hut, and drew from 
beneath the bed a long, heavy staff with a for- 
midable brags head, — th6 wood exceedingly 
hard, and carved with quaiiit letterings of the 
East. Swung in trained hands such a weapon 
was no mean match for a halberd or broad- 
sword ; yet Jerome sighed as he lifted it. 

“ I go on a good work ; nevertheless, it 
nigh seems looking back with the hand long 
set upon the plough ; God pity me, yet — 
here he swung the great staff about his 
head till he heard the air a-singing, and 
the sound seemed sweet as music ; then 
he crossed himself, as extra talisman against 
such carnal joy, and went down into the 
Dragon’s Dale. 

****** 

The evening had been settling fast. All 
the clouds above the western hills were 
painted rose and gold, the gold fading, the 
rose deepening. Above the eastern Drachen- 
stein rode three pale stars — nigh blotted by 
a broad white moon. The wind had sunk to a 


22 


WITCH MARTHA 


whisper, to which the woods were answering. 
The stream purled slumbrously as Jerome 
emerged from the Dragon’s Dale ; from the 
clearing he sent one glance v/estward and 
north to the Wartburg, where Ulrich’s blood- 
red banner still trailed to a redder sky, then 
with swift, strong strides he plunged into the 
heart of the forest. Blind was the path, and 
ever darkening ; it wound over stock, stone, 
through glade and hollow. Now he heard 
the delicate hoofs of the red deer as they 
scampered in dread of some poacher ; now 
the moonlight made a silver foot-cloth down 
broad avenues of cedars whereof the planter 
was God alone. Still the hermit bore on, 
fearless, tireless, no forest beast more certain 
of his way, until the blind path circled up- 
ward, the trees again were opening, and upon 
the sheer height against the gloaming reared 
the grim Wartburg, defiant, scarce approach- 
able, but shooting from loophole and win- 
dow red shafts of light, whilst on the soft 
night air drifted the scream of coarse song 
and coarser revel. 

I go to fiends, not men ; ” so spoke 
Jerome, and halted a moment to pray, 
23 


THE SAINT OF THE DEACON’S DALE 


then boldly moved forward. In an instant 
he entered the light of a camp-fire ; a half- 
dozen low-browed men with steel caps and 
clattering halberds leaped from their dicing 
on the grass, barred his path with oaths, and 
demanded : — 

Your business ? ” 

‘‘And yours, friend? Who are you to 
ask ? ” 

“ To ask, quotha ? Has not Ulrich set us 
here to watch the road, while the rest have 
wassail and women in the castle? Selfish 
swine ! But now who are you ? ” 

“ A sinful man.^* 

“ We're all noble fat sinners here ; but 
that's no password." 

“ I come on a holy errand." 

“ Hoch ! I'm just the scoundrel to halt an 
angel, or even to test the thickness of his 
head ! " 

Down crashed the halberd, but the staff 
flew up to meet it. The lanzknecht scarce 
knew how, but his weapon twirled out of his 
hands and whisked over into a thicket. 
Miracle or magic, — this strange being's 
power was dangerous. The six recoiled 


24 


WITCH MARTHA 


toward the fire, then as the flame glittered 
across the hermit’s face with one accord that 
evil crew sank on knees, — cheeks white, 
teeth a-chattering. 

The Saint ! The Saint of the Dragon’s 
Dale. Woe ! Miserere ! We are damned ! ” 
But Jerome, without a word, went up the 
long way to the Wartburg. 



25 



CHAPTER III 

MAID AGNES 

l) cheer at the gate, more cheer 
the bailey, in the great hall 
the Wartburg the blithest cheer 
all. On the brass fire-dogs 
in the cavernous chimney tall flames leaped 
from the snapping logs ; in their wall-sockets 
the red torches shook at every gust from the 
open loopholes. The polished oak of the 
ceiling, the green and crimson scrolls of 
the frescos, the sheen of the long black 
benches, the glister of the gold and silver 
drinking-horns, the brightness of the pictured 
tapestries, — all these joined in a scene of 
barbaric splendour. Upon the dais, under 
the arched recess, Ulrich, Free-baron by 
the Grace of God,^’ and master of an hun- 
dred men, sprawled half his length in his 
26 




MAID AGNES 


arm-chair, banged his great scabbard on the 
floor, and swore that he was in just the mood 
to fight My Lord the Emperor. 

Michael the Breaker, the black-haired 
giant who sat on the lower stool at his suzerain’s 
side, capped the oath by wishing the King of 
France and the Holy Father at Rome were 
foes too, just for furnishing merry sword- 
play. While amongst the men-at-arms and 
brutish women who were fast getting wilder 
over mead and beer, Priest Clement — the 
jolliest sinner who ever pattered a mass — 
lolled on his bench, called for another pot of 
the smacking Erfurt beer, and dared man or 
demon to deny that his was the happiest life 
in all the world. 

“ Veritas / veritas ! true was the saying my 
wise mother taught me ! ” 

‘‘And that wisdom, Father?” snickered 
Ruprecht, who was then tying a new knot in 
his dagger-strap to keep reckoning of the 
man he had killed that day. 

‘‘ For a happy time once, then a fowl you must slay ! 

For a merry long year, don’t your wedding delay ! 

For a lifelong carouse, then a priest you must 
stay ! ” 


27 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


So Clement ; but Ruprecht growled 
sullenly, — 

*‘We are less fortunate than your rever- 
ence ; it is Friday, but can we have no 
dispensation for a side of ham ? ” 

O malefic e / Unfaithful shepherd have I 
been to my sheep that such impiety should 
spring up in their hearts even as a wish ! 
Have you no fear of God’s Judgment? ” 

But here the beer came, and Clement’s 
nose went into it. Ulrich was pulling his 
great carcass up into the chair and squinting 
round the room. 

‘^The maid? where?” he demanded. 

The prisoner? ” asked Michael, his vizier. 
The same ; ” and Ulrich’s eyes went over 
into a dark corner behind the fireplace, then 
his orders sounded sharp as a cracking lash. 

‘‘ He ! Franz-of-the-Ram’s-Pate, bring her 
this way.” 

A great man-at-arms, whose strength lay 
in muscle not in wits, bestirred himself and 
dragged from the shelter a girl whose slender 
form seemed sinking from his hands as from 
the touch of flame. In the wavering torch- 
light few might look upon her face ; yet that 
28 


MAID AGNES 


she was merest child one quick glance told, 
and all could have seen the evil grin of My 
Lord Baron as he surveyed her. 

So ^/izs is the prisoner? ” 

The girl, too scared or too brave for sobs, 
remained absolutely still. Ulrich continued 
his inquest. 

Had she no jewels nor rings ? 

‘^The most reverend Father Clement, pos- 
sessed himself of them,” ventured Franz, to 
be cut short by a hurried ^ Maledicte / ’ from 
the priest, and a warning from Ulrich that the 
holy man^s share, when the spoil was divided, 
should be abated accordingly. 

''Well, girl,” continued the Baron, "and 
who may your gallant father be, that you 
travelled from Bamberg with so handsomely 
furnished a company ? Some fat burgomas- 
ter of Hamburg or of Lubeck, I dare swear 
by Saint Godehard’s self ! ” 

The girl held up her head now, and her 
voice was very shrill. 

"I am come from the convent at Bam- 
berg, where the Lady Abbess reared me, and 
I go to Graf Ludwig of the Harz, who is my 
father.” 


29 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


Had the prisoner suddenly become a 
knight in mail, Ulrich could scarce have 
liked this answer less. He stormed out a 
fearful oath ‘^not to lie,’^ which only drove 
her back to silence, and every feaster stopped 
his drinking. The Baron looked uneasily on 
Michael. 

“Does the wench lie?” he demanded. 

“I could see from the first that she was 
nobly born, by her small hands and feet, and 
she is too scared to lie. She is Ludwig’s own 
brat, as I am a sinner.” 

“Holy Trinity ! ” swore Ulrich, staring hard ; 
“ this is what comes of setting on companies 
one knows nothing about. You see she is 
but a puling child, though tall for her age, 
and of no use to us. Ludwig of the Harz ! 
He will pull down the Wartburg stone by 
stone, but never pay a ransom. I know him. 
Safer to rouse a she-bear just missing a 
whelp ! ” 

“Ludwig may never know to blame us,” 
suggested Michael ; “ those other fools are too 
dead for babbling. There are more bands 
who ^ live by the stirrup ’ betwixt Goslar and 
Bamberg to share the suspicions.” 

30 


MAID AGNES 


But you dogs will wag your tongues in the 
Eisenach taverns,” frowned his lord. Stories 
will fly; the Graf swoop down.” 

*^Then the wench is best — ” but here 
Michael drew a big finger across his thick 
throat and laughed. 

‘‘ Back with her, Franz ! ” thundered Ul- 
rich, losing temper. She is too white now 
even to whimper. I will question her more 
in the morning, when my crown does not 
buzz. Fill me the tallest horn, and you. 
Priest Clement, roar out a tune to hearten 
us ! ” 

The girl vanished in her comer. The news 
that they held so unwelcome a prisoner had 
dampened the jollity of all save the holy 
priest, but he held his mug high, opened his 
huge mouth, and made the rafters ring. 

“ Horse, lance and away, 

Man nor fiend shan’t us stay, 

Though to the Black Pit we’re a-flying I 
From a mug and a maid 
To a merry mad raid, 

That’s the best way for living or dying ! 

“ Let a clumsy monk howl 
To the saints from his cowl, 


31 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


As he shrinks on the straw at Death’s creeping. 
To the tune of the brand 
Let us die as we stand, 

And we’ll leave to base varlets the weeping ! 

" So be blithe through the night, 

And by day ride and fight. 

That’s the lanzknechts’ brave life, I’m a-saying! 

‘ Yo^ kot he ! Yo, ho, he ! 

Neath the greenwood spur we ! ’ 

So all the deep war horns are brayingT 

The last lines were blared as a chorus out 
of forty throats, the rafters shook, the torches 
quivered. Silence then, an unwonted step, 
varlets with long faces rushing, Baron Ulrich 
twisting in his chair. Priest Clement turning 
red, the door tapestry parting, and strange 
eyes looking in upon that wanton crew. The 
raiders were face to face with Jerome of the 
Dragon’s Dale. 

^ ^ ^ * 

Well for Jerome that he had mastered the 
Demon of Spiritual Pride ! Ulrich of the 
Wartburg, ruler of one hundred of the wildest 
spirits in Thuringia, had cowered behind his 
silver-lace doublet and tried to look fierce, 
but vainly. Michael the Breaker remembered 


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‘“Give him the maid, Franz, and all the fiends 

GO WITH HER ! ’ ” 

See page 33 . 


MAID AGNES 


a prayer his mother had taught him. Priest 
Clement’s wriggling tongue was still as a fire- 
dog. When Jerome stood before the dais 
and bade Ulrich deliver up the prisoner then 
and there, My Lord Baron turned all ashen 
under his bronzed skin and asked what would 
be the consequences if he did not, only to 
understand that obstinacy now would advance 
him farther yet into Heaven’s ill graces. It 
had all ended before an onlooker could have 
counted an hundred. 

'^Give him the maid, Franz, and all the 
fiends go with her ! ” 

So ordered Ulrich, and Franz complied 
whilst his great knees beat together and his 
ill-deeds stared large at him. Some cried 
^^Blessing!” Absolution ! ” others. One 
of the wicked women knelt and kissed the 
skirt of the sheepskin as Jerome swept out 
with never a word to them all. That the 
feast flickered out in silence and trembling 
sobriety, there is small need to tell. 

But Jerome led the little maid through the 
wide courts, where other revellers cast timor- 
ous eyes on them, under the spiked portcullis 
(where the warder was crossing himself on 


D 


33 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


his corselet) out into the black span of the 
night, with only the stars and the moon and 
the wind to bear them company. 

As for the maid herself, it had all been one 
whirling dream since noon, when the Baron’s 
men had stopped her escort under the green- 
wood. Happy was she, in that she was too 
young to know all that had passed, but not 
too young to fear lest she were dead, and 
had passed to some world not heaven. Yet 
the dream was not wholly evil now. Though 
her companion did not speak, she knew that 
he was a friend. When the castle was high 
above, and the great woods thronged all around, 
she grew bold enough for a question. 

Who are you ? ” 

The hermit did not reply. In his heart he 
was repeating an awful warning, ‘‘Fear the 
Tempter now, Jerome ; you lead by your 
hand — a woman ! ” 

“ Who are you ? ” repeated the little maid ; 
“ for I think you are surely God, since God 
looks like a tall and noble man with a long 
white beard, and all the wicked like Baron 
Ulrich haste to obey him.” 

“ Do not blaspheme,” commanded Jerome, 

34 


MAID AGNES 


swift as an arrow, almost casting off her hand ; 
‘‘ I am the most sinful creature under heaven.” 

‘‘Then you are the Devil. I have heard 
the Abbess call him ‘ The Old Man,’ too, yet 
I think Baron Ulrich would never fear the 
Devil.” 

“ Hush, daughter ! ” ordered the hermit, 
groaning gently at the manifold tribulations 
he saw awaiting ; “ my name is Jerome of the 
Dragon’s Dale. Your poor mind wanders 
after all the griefs of the day. Now how 
were you christened?” 

“ Agnes ; and my father is Graf Ludwig 
of the Harz.” 

“ Agnes — that is a good name for a maid. 
I knew an Agnes once — ” 

“ Your own child? ” 

“ She was — ” but the words seemed to 
come almost as a sob ; and with instinctive 
delicacy the girl feared to press her guide 
with questions. 

In silence they went down into the very 
deeps of the forest. Agnes scarcely saw the 
glimmerings of moonlight under the matted 
trees. She heard the noise of hidden beasts, 
the whirl of hidden waters. Then her guide 

35 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


felt the hand drag heavy in his own, and he 
bent over her. 

What is it? Why do you draw back?^* 
Pixies are here. I am afraid.” 

There are no pixies here ; yet if there 
were, they are not for dread. A Christian 
maid need only fear the wrath of sinful men. 
So say ^Our Father * and be brave. Yet you 
grow weary? ” 

Yes.” 

The strong frame bowed. The hermit 
lifted his prisoner in his mighty arms. How 
light the form ! Something that sent a thrill 
all through him touched on his cheek, — the 
soft hair of a maid. His stride grew longer. 
Presently on his shoulder, close to his ear, was 
a sound. He halted at the break in the trees, 
where spread the moonlight. No room for 
doubt ; utterly worn, even whilst he bore her, 
Agnes was in the child’s safe refuge, — sleep. 

As Jerome moved, he also deemed himself 
a dreamer. He, Jerome of the Dragon’s 
Dale, was taking to his hut a woman ! What 
matter if that temptress was a child, robed in 
white innocency and helplessness? She was 
not less the daughter of Eve by whom our 

36 


MAID AGNES 


fathers fell. Bear her to Witch Martha? 
But that unholy woman’s den was two good 
leagues away, and then what right had he to 
put this Agnes’s soul in eternal jeopardy by 
casting her into company with that familiar 
of Satan? Jerome felt the warm breath and 
the soft hair, and saw in the black shadows 
the form that trusted him. 

“ She imagined you were God ! ” 

Then he said in his heart that this was one 
of Christ’s little ones, and that he must be 
strong in temptation. By the time he had 
reached the Dragon’s Dale the burden in his 
arms had grown heavy. Unhesitant he 
threaded the familiar path, and mounted the 
slope. Before the hut still glowed a few red 
embers. He took the maid inside, and laid 
her on the furze bed. She folded her hands, 
sighed prettily, but did not waken. Jerome 
stole from the hut, then fell on his knees to pray. 

O Lord God, why hast Thou appointed 
that I cannot beat back memory ! It all 
awakes ! Ah ! save me from new temptation. 
I cannot bear after so long that I should fail, 
and pawn once more my soul and the soul of 
Sigismund, my son ! ” 


37 



CHAPTER IV 

THE DOVE AT THE DRAGON’s DALE 

HEN Maid Agnes passed from 
dreams to the first slow waking, 
she did not open her eyes. Be- 
neath her head was something soft 
and fragrant, — balmy furze and the sweet 
boughs of pine. Outside and all about was a 
crooning, witching sound, — the great pines 
and beeches talking. Memory throbbed back ; 
but memory without a pang. Journey, fray, 
blood and slaughter, the Wartburg and its 
godless crew, all seemed an hundred years 
away. She could look back on them calmly, 
gladly, as do the saints on high upon the 
distant pains of the little, fading earth. Where 
was she? She did not know; still less did 
she care. Outside the pines kept at their 
sighing and talking. She could almost catch 
the words. Far, far away, as from a distant 
world, pealed out a bell, — the matin- bell of 

38 




THE DOVE AT THE DRAGON^ S DALE 

Eisenach ; she stirred and opened her eyes. 
The little hut was dark, but athwart the door- 
way streamed a golden sunbeam enticing her. 
Short was the toilet ; she was outside the hut. 
The great trees were bending overhead. 
Through the rifts in the boughs peered down 
the blue of clearest heaven. No human form 
was in sight, but before the hut a noble flame 
crackled; trees before, behind, to right, to 
left. But all was peace, and every tree seemed 
as a friend. Now her ears caught the noise 
of rushing water. A step down the slope 
brought her to a rill, where leaped a streamlet 
clear and cold from its fountain. She bathed 
hands and face in the little pool, and saw the 
buttercups drifting as tiny boats across the 
water. In the twinkling mirror she saw her 
own softly moulded face, and bound back 
the flying gold-brown hair. Then at last 
she knew she was hungry, even in heaven, 
and looked about her. 

Feet were crunching the dead leaves of the 
forest. Out of the coppice came a man, — 
her deliverer of the night before. She ran to 
him with beaming face, and held out her 
hands. 


39 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


Oh ! It is you who saved me from Baron 
Ulrich ; and I know now who you are. My 
wits were straying last night, but to-day it is 
all plain ! We are near Eisenach, and you 
are Saint Jerome of the Dragon’s Dale.” 

^‘Who declared that?” and poor Jerome 
was wondering whether to open his arms and 
welcome the vision into them, or to flee as 
from the embrace of Satan arrayed like an 
angel of light. 

The Abbess at Bamberg ; and My Lord 
the Prince Bishop has written concerning you 
to Rome, to the Holy Father. Ah ! saint you 
must be, that Baron Ulrich should thus dread 
you ! I remember all now ! ” 

Jerome did not answer. So his fame had 
spread to Rome ! Well that Witch Martha 
had not told all this, or his visit to the 
Wartburg would have cost yet sorer mental 
wrestlings than it surely did ! Agnes came 
very close to him, and still with both arms 
wide. 

Ah ! my father Graf Ludwig is a strong, 
rich man, and will reward you, — but what 
do I say ! Are you not a saint, and what 
would be gold or lands or vassals, when the 


40 


THE DOVE AT THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


dear God is giving you a great fief up in 
heaven ! Yet I must do something/^ 

They stood eyeing one another — those twain 
— like two champions in the lists. Then the 
maid, reckless through youth and love, caused 
Jerome to be tempted of the Devil. 

‘‘ Oh ! it will not be so very wrong ! even if 
angels come each night to kiss you ! I must 
kiss you too.” 

And so she did, putting her arms about 
him, and kissing his shaggy lips, and saying 
all the cooing tender things which spring from 
the heart of a child. Jerome did not thrust 
her back. He told himself that here was a 
last test sent from heaven, to see if he could 
endure the kiss of a maid, and never yearn 
for worldly joys thrust by. But he did not 
return the kiss, and she added, a little grieved : 

‘‘You are not angry with me?” 

“ No, daughter, no ; but are you not 
hungry? ” 

“That I am.” 

Jerome took from the wicker basket which 
he bore six speckled trout, his morning booty, 
cleaned dexterously, and soon, spitted on twigs, 
they hung above the fire. An instant later 


41 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


Harun burst through the thicket, in his mouth 
a partridge. But Agnes gave a little shriek, 
and made to fly. 

A wolf ! 

Jerome assured her with a nod. 

He never harms.” 

But wolves are evil beasts ; ” and Agnes 
still shrank, as Harun laid his trophy at his 
master’s feet. 

The only evil beasts are men.” 

I forget that he is a saint,” said Agnes, 
under breath, ‘^and all things of the forest 
must obey him.” 

So the partridge broiled beside the trout, 
whilst Harun dutifully waited for the bones. 
Jerome brought forth bread and cheese, — 
the simplest meal in Agnes’s life. What would 
my Lady Abbess at Bamberg think to have 
a beech leaf in her lap, in lieu of a fair white 
napkin from Flanders? But was it hunger 
which made all taste so good, or was it that 
a real saint had asked God’s blessing? 

After the feast was over, Harun shambled 
away into the wood, and Agnes looked at the 
hermit, questioning. 

<‘What ami to do?” 


42 


THE DOVE AT THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


Go where you will ; follow down the 
stream, but stop when you come to the close 
gorge of the Dragon’s Dale. If you never 
quit the brook, you can never get lost. When 
you are weary, come back.” 

So she kissed him once more, and clam- 
bered down the hillslope, whilst Jerome 
straightway took out the scourge as antidote 
for earthly imaginings. 

But Agnes found all the groves and hills 
one kingdom of delight ; for what bad sprites 
dared dwell so near a saint? Upon the 
boughs grave thrushes winked down at her ; 
little green snakes shot in and out the grass. 
Once she pushed back a bush, and came face 
to face with two bright, gentle eyes, — a 
cow? what cow had ever horns like these? 
A snort, a stamping — away scampered the 
deer, and she heard him leaping through 
thicket on thicket. She followed the stream 
past tiny pool and waterfall till she halted at 
the mouth of the Dragon’s Dale ; for here she 
was sure the holy spell of the great saint ended, 
and gnomes and goblins ruled in that serpent- 
like ravine. So she turned back, with pleas- 
ures enough in the forest, until suddenly she 

43 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


came on a human being, — a quaint little 
woman, seated on a log, with two ravens 
croaking on her shoulders. The little woman 
(despite her round waist) dropped Agnes a 
very deep courtesy, called her my gracious 
lady,” and seemed as much a gentle-woman 
as the Abbess herself, notwithstanding strange 
costume and stranger resting-place. 

‘‘ And are you a holy woman too?” asked 
Agnes, when the first edge was off her won- 
der ; ‘‘for you are not at all like to Jerome?” 

Here the little woman rocked with laugh- 
ter till the woods reechoed, and a redbreast 
whirled out of a beech in fright. 

“ Who are you, then? ” 

“ Call me Witch Martha.” 

Agnes began to grow pale about her lips ; 
but the new friend assured her that hers 
was only “ white magic,” that she was as good 
a Christian as any in the Thuringerwald, 
and that all her elves and dwarfs were second 
cousins to the angels, only they could not 
live up in heaven because of a little swarthi- 
ness of their skins. Then Witch Martha drew 
Agnes down upon her log, and before long 
the brown head was in the little woman's lap, 


44 


THE DOVE AT THE DRAGON'S DALE 


and soon Martha had heard all of Agnes’s 
brief life-story, — how her mother had died 
when she was a baby, and how she had al- 
ways lived at the great Abbey of Bamberg, 
under the special eye of the noble Abbess, 
who was the Prince Bishop’s own sister. As 
for her father, Graf Ludwig, all Germany 
knew that he was a great prince in the North 
Country, rising every day in favour with the 
Landgraf of Thuringia, and with the new 
Emperor, Rudolf of Hapsburg, and with them 
trying to end the ‘‘stirrup law” of Ulrich and 
his kind. Agnes had never been far from the 
convent ; she knew rather less of the world 
than Martha’s winking ravens ; she could 
embroider, sing, read a little Latin, and illu- 
minate a missal. She had seen her father 
only twice. He was a grand, tall man, very 
fierce, but magnificent ; something about him 
reminded her of Jerome the Saint. But he was 
no saint, — Our Lady pity him ! — he was too 
fond of forays and tourneys, for that ! Never- 
theless, Agnes was very proud of him ; and at 
Goslar — whither he had summoned her — 
no doubt she was to live in state like an Elec- 
tor’s daughter. 


45 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON'S DALE 


Witch Martha only nodded her wise head, 
seemed to ask few questions, really asked 
many, and found out all she wished to 
know. 

Has your father always lived in the North 
Country? 

Agnes thought not. The nuns at Bamberg 
had never told her much about his early life, 
because, forsooth, they did not know them- 
selves. But old Sister Barbara had once said 
that the Graf had surely been in Italy and 
even in the Holy Land, and Sister Elizabeth, 
the faultfinder of the nunnery, had added 
that much travel amongst the paynims had 
surely brought him into perilous disregard for 
his soul. But the Abbess had ordered si- 
lence, and no chattering of things whereof 
few save the Recording Angel knew certainly.” 

Then Agnes had her own question. Who 
was Jerome? Had he always dwelt by the 
Dragon’s Dale? Was he not of all men 
very holy? 

Witch Martha answered with all seeming 
candour that there was no man from Pomera- 
nia to Swabia more loved of God than he, 
so that Saint Gabriel had lately assured Saint 
46 


THE DOVE AT THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


Raphael how he had heard our Father say 
that when Jerome went to heaven he was to 
be His archchancellor, just as the Bishop of 
Koln was to Kaiser Rudolf. Nevertheless 
Jerome had only been by the Dragon's Dale 
these seven years, but since coming he had 
charmed the wolves, the foxes, and the red 
deer so that they all served him like so many 
varlets. 

Yet who is he ? " would ask Agnes ; was 
he never young? For I can never think how 
he looked when once a child, as I can think 
of you. Witch Martha." 

The little woman seemed to shiver and to 
sigh, as if she, too, had a war with memory, 
but answered : — 

Only Heaven knows his age, and Heaven 
will not tell ! Yet I think this, — that once he 
was a man of strong deeds and of blood, like 
Graf Ludwig ; that he has been in many dis- 
tant lands, for he speaks the paynim tongue 
even better than the German. And I think 
that once he had a son." 

A son? A little lad ? " 

No ; for his son had grown to be a tall 
knight, and though Jerome keeps all hid, I 

47 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON'S DALE 


think that father and son had a bitter quarrel, 
— they parted in anger, and soon after the 
son died, still cursed of his father. Therefore 
Jerome has God’s anger weighing upon him 
heavily, and he fears for his son’s salvation.” 

‘‘And on this account did Jerome turn 
saint? ” 

“ I think so.” 

Agnes sighed and looked wise. 

“It must be hard to learn to be a saint; 
yet now he must enjoy it. Still, I have not 
seen him smile. Surely they must smile up 
in heaven. Saint Peter and Saint Paul, Saint 
Lorenz and Saint Sebastian, — Sister Rosala 
said that because they had toil and martyrdom 
on earth, they never lacked good wine and 
merry minne-lays in their great castles in the 
Golden City.” 

“No doubt she is right,” quoth Martha, 
laughing now, though strangely enough her 
laugh seemed close to tears ; “ but our Saint 
of the Dragon’s Dale is not raised to heaven 
yet.” 


48 



CHAPTER V 

JEROME IS TEMPTED OF THE DEVIL 

Agnes came again to the 
she saw no sign of Jerome. 
Harun was there, and for a 
moment maid and wolf looked on 
one another, questioning ; each meditating 
whether to make friends, or to fly incon- 
tinently into the forest. Agnes had learned 
by heart Sister Rosala’s tale of the big demon 
Elemauzer, who liked nothing better than to 
scamper over the world in the form of a 
tawny wolf, to snap up juicy girls ; while 
Harun’s knowledge of human kind was 
summed up in Jerome, Witch Martha, and a 
certain poacher who twice had nearly winged 
him with an arrow. But there seemed noth- 
ing demoniacal in Harun, and nothing dan- 
gerous in Agnes. Therefore, Harun drew 
near very timidly, wagged his tail, let his red 

E 49 



THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


tongue hang out and puffed in friendship, 
whilst Agnes still more timidly put a small 
hand betwixt his ears and stroked him. Then 
from armed truce sprang peace, from peace 
came comradeship ; and before either knew 
it, Harun was drowsing on the greensward, 
sinking deeper and deeper into slumber, and 
Agnes’s gold-brown head lay on his tawny 
shoulder. The great boughs far above never 
ceased their talking, and gossiped louder as 
the south wind, kind and warm, sung over 
the summer forest. The wood-thrushes 
whistled in and out ; over Agnes’s face great 
bumblebees buzzed closely, half wondering 
whether in her red lips there lurked no sip 
of honey. But she never heard their prag- 
matic droning, for Harun, sly protector, gave 
his tail a mighty slap which sent the bees 
away to less safe-guarded flowers. So noon 
sank down toward evening. The shadows of 
the pines were longer, longer. The breeze 
had sung itself to sleep, and all the woods 
grew still. Then through the fern-brake 
stirred Jerome, walking tenderly, — for he 
would not needlessly crush a dewy blossom, 
— and stood beside the silent pair. 

50 


JEROME IS TEMPTED OF THE DEVIL 

Jerome had been over hill and dale to 
Witch Martha^s dwelling with the laudable 
desire to acquaint that uncanny woman con- 
cerning the results of his mission to the Wart- 
burg, and to bid her seek out some one who 
coiild communicate with Graf Ludwig and 
take the child away. He was sorely tempted 
to deliver Agnes to Martha, and so rid him- 
self of all temptation. Again he told himself it 
was no safe thing to trust a little maid to one 
who might sell her prot^g^’s soul to Devil 
Baalberith for two Bremen shillings. Martha, 
however, for her own reasons had remained 
abroad, and Jerome, when the sun sank, 
turned homeward — his charge could spare 
him no longer. Yet not altogether regretful. 
Something, some one, would be awaiting him at 
the hut. He would hear a voice, — not his 
own, not Harun’s shrill bark, not the cry of 
the wood-bird. He would look into human 
eyes, he would feel a hand, he would — Ne 
nos inducas in tentationeniy' prayed Jerome ; 

plain, plain it is, Lord, Thou hast given me 
over to Satan, even as Thou didst Thy servant 
Job, to see if I can endure all and stand. 

First he looked in the hut, and was troubled 
SI 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


at finding no form upon the furze bed ; then 
beside the tall tree he saw the sleepers, 
and almost ere he knew it his lips were 
twitching in a smile, — O maximum peccatum ! 
O gaudium impium ! Joy, not at the con- 
templation of the beatific vision, but at sight 
of a noxious beast and of a mortal maid ! 
Nevertheless, as he stood over them, these 
were the words which seemed sounding. 

And the sucking child shall play on the 
hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall 
put his hand on the cockatrice's den; they 
shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy 
mountain^ 

But Jerome only told himself that Satan 
could wrest Scripture as fairly as an angel ; 
then fortified against temptation he touched 
Agnes. 

Awake ! ” 

The heavy eyes opened, stared around. 

Ah ! but the shadows are long ! It grows 
dark,” said she all wondering, whilst Harun 
rose and shook his coat free of the pine- 
needles. 

Yes, you must have slept soundly. It is 
time to eat;” and Jerome busied himself 

52 


JEROME IS TEMPTED OF THE DEVIL 

about the supper, — more trout, bread, cheese, 
and the remnants of the partridge. He 
studiously refrained from glances at Agnes, 
and never spoke save as he must. When the 
meal ended, Agnes held her pretty head first 
this way, then that, and followed with a 
statement. 

“ I met a woman by the brook.*^ 

A woman? of what kind? 

A fat little woman all in black, with two 
big blacker ravens.” 

Jerome frowned. Then you have met 
Witch Martha. She has commerce with the 
Father of Lies; shun her carefully or you 
can never go to heaven.” 

“Oh, but she did nothing wicked. Her 
speech had far more about Our Lady and the 
Blessed Saints in it than you hear with the 
sisters at Bamberg.” 

“ Her tongue may have a jargon of piety, 
but her soul is given to Satan.” 

Agnes sighed. Jerome was a saint, and he 
ought to know. Yet it was perplexing to 
understand that so prepossessing a woman as 
Martha had stricken hands with the Devil. 
Presently Agnes began again. 

53 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


Holy Saint Jerome, why do you never 
smile? ** 

Have I not told you I was no saint ? 
and he waxed almost angry. 

Witch Martha and My Lady Abbess say 
that you are, and I believe they, not you, are 
right.’* 

There bubbled to Jerome’s lips an impre- 
cation against those two women which might 
have seemed worthy of Baron Ulrich’s self. 
Jerome checked it just in time. At least,” 
he comforted himself, the arising of such 
blasphemies in my heart proves that I am 
still a naked sinner.” 

“ Maid Agnes,” said he, severely, Witch 
Martha and the Abbess prattle folly. I am a 
very wicked man.” 

‘‘ Is it for that cause you will not smile? ” 

Yes ; ” but he knew she was incredulous. 

Not even if I weave these purple asters 
and buttercups in a wreath, and set it on 
your head? ” 

He did not answer. Conscience told that 
he ought to rebuke her for tempting him 
from holy meditations. Why disobey the 
dictate? Yet he did. She made the wreath. 


S4 


JEROME IS TEMPTED OF THE DEVIL 

He felt the little flowers upon his hair. He 
felt the touch of her soft hands upon his 
cheek; and her eyes looked straight into 
his. 

Smile ! ” she commanded, as she might 
address Harun ; do you hear me, smile ! 

And Jerome — that saint adored through 
wide Thuringia — obeyed her. He smiled ; 
he almost laughed ; but — praised be Saint 
Simeon — grace was given just to shun that ! 

Once more the silvery bell in distant Eise- 
nach knelled across the trees, calling to ves- 
pers. They knelt down to pray. Jerome 
had even forgotten to doff the flower crown. 
The maid prayed in loud whisper, — to Our 
Lady, to Agnes of Rome her patron saint, — 
then added something more softly, but he 
could hear it, “ Holy Saint Jerome of the 
Dragon’s Dale, pray for me.” 

Why did he not rebuke her with the 
thunders of Sinai ? Why did his own prayer 
halt ? Had Witch Martha taught the maid 
some guilty spell? Had the arch-fiend 
taken a young girl’s shape to overcome this 
hardened anchorite? But Jerome was silent, 
and Agnes arose from her knees. 

55 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


^^How long can I stay here? ” spoke she, 
before she went into the hut to lie down. 

I shall try to send at once for Graf 
Ludwig.’* 

Oh ! he can know that I am safe ; but 
it is lovely here ! I do not want to go away. 
Harun, the brook, and the birds, and the talk- 
ing trees, already I love them, but most of 
all, — youN 

Then he let her kiss him good night. He 
did not return the kiss ; nevertheless he 
groaned inwardly, knowing he was making 
progress in sin. True was Master Vergil’s 
word, Facilis descensus Averni!'' 

As he sat in the waning firelight, for the 
first time in many a month a profound lone- 
liness had stolen over him. Harun had 
prowled away into the forest. Presently 
Jerome arose, cast a fresh branch on the lire, 
and stole into the hut. “ I must see if she is 
safe and warm.” 

Through the doorway crept a silver- 
sandalled moonbeam. It touched on some- 
thing round and white, — the face of the 
little maid. All Jerome’s veins seemed turned 
to fire, yet all that fire was ineffably sweet. 

S6 


JEROME IS TEMPTED OF THE DEVIL 

He knew the glow and ecstasy of the soul 
born into highest heaven. A power not 
sprung of self compelled him. He could not 
resist ; he would not if he could. Bending 
across that face, he kissed it with his bearded 
lips. Once, — and the fire leaped into more 
exquisite heat; twice, thrice, four times, — 
but at the fourth his soul fell down from its 
high heaven, like Lucifer, son of the Morn- 
ing. He rushed from the hut, his heart torn 
by demons, its fire a maddening pain. 

‘‘ He, he — Jerome of the Dragon^s Dale — 
had bestowed a kiss on a maid ! 

****** 

Jerome had resolved not to sleep that 
night. He must battle back the fiends, as 
became a holy soldier. The terror lest he 
had fallen utterly ; lest by this one lapse the 
credit laid up with God by years of austerity 
was forfeit, — this was omnipresent. He 
would have scourged himself, but the whip 
lay under the bed of the little maid, and now 
he was most certain that in approaching 
Agnes he approached a form of Satan. So 
he knelt and thought that he prayed ; but 
his head was heavy. Thrice he shook the 

57 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


Stupor off : but strive as he would, unholy 
dreams rose uppermost. Women were rising 
before him, foul and pure, hideous and beau- 
tiful. Was it the Blessed Virgin enringed by 
a host of glittering spirits who was beckoning, 
who was calling him ? No ; he knew her 
now, — it was the Norse King’s daughter, 
the golden-haired Trolfreda, and the wind 
that hummed about blew not from the crys- 
tal river but from the blue breast of the wild 
North Sea. Again she was changed, — she 
was Ada of the Silver Belt, and he rode into 
Orleans at her palfrey’s side, whilst bright 
tabarded heralds cried him the stoutest knight 
of the Loire ; but his fairest glory was in the 
lady’s eyes. Yet again the heralds wore 
crimson turbans, their faces were black, in 
their hands boomed paynim atabals. The 
church spires were spindling minarets. The 
air was sweet with the musky breath of des- 
ert sands. It was not Orleans, but Al-Cairo 
by the Nile. Obaedah was leaning down 
from the swaying camel. He could see the 
gemmed bracelets twinkling upon her smooth 
brown arms, the gold upon her raven hair, 
the rosy lips which parted in the snaring 

58 


JEROME IS TEMPTED OF THE DEVIL 

smile. And then back to the tourney at 
Naples : Kaiser Frederick, crowds, plaudits, 
crowns, — and Mathilde, — the walk with 
Mathilde by the sea. 

He woke from the vision with a scream of 
mortal pain. The black woods rang ; a fright- 
ened bird whirred from her nest. Jerome 
never knew it. He was in cold sweat from 
foot to crown, and trembling. So far from 
praying he had given place to sinful lusts. 
All the passions of the old life surged back in 
one fierce wave. The repression of years had 
gone for nothing. His sins stared him tenfold 
blacker than the night. Again on his knees 
he prayed out loudly : — 

O Lord Jesus Christ, if Thou hast any 
mercy, take far from me this maid, or my 
soul and the soul of Sigismund my son are 
lost forever ! Thou knowest how I am 
tempted past endurance. For surely Beel- 
zebub, Sifter of Souls, has sent this child to 
bring back every ungodly wish and thought. 
Her power on me is grown so strong ! Away 
with her. Lord ! in Thy Blessed Mother’s 
name, — away with her ! or I know not what 
to do 1 ” 


59 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


So he prayed long and loud, never heeding 
whether any ears save those of the wood-birds 
heard him. He never recked a single, soft, 
sobbing cry, and the noise of feet receding in 
the forest. Then came sleep, — as wicked as 
before. He sank away with a godless song 
of Walter von der Vogelweide trolling in his 
ear, — a minne-song in praise of love and 
laughter in springtime. When he awoke, lo 1 
the ruddy dawn was tinting the greensward. 
The fire was dead. By instinct he ran to the 
hut. Empty. He called the girl. 

Agnes ! Agnes ! Where ? ” 

No answer came. The shouts died down 
the avenues of trees. He hunted near. He 
hunted far. The maid had vanished in the 
night. He should have thanked our Lord 
his prayer was so swiftly granted. He did 
nothing of the kind. He was almost cursing 
Heaven for making his petition good. With 
eyes aflame, with heart nigh leaping in his 
throat, he ran toward the Dragon’s Dale. He 
must find the maid, — yes, though to find 
her he bartered his own soul and his son’s. 


6o 



CHAPTER VI 

THE HERALD OF THE KAISER 

HE Wartburg was in commotion; 
men ran this way and that through 
barbican and bailey. Michael the 
Breaker looked to see if the port- 
cullis was ready to drop at a hatchet stroke. 
Franz of the Ram’s Pate brandished a battle- 
axe of three stone, and Priest Clement clapped 
on a helmet. 

A herald had come to the Wartburg. He 
wore the Imperial arms, the double eagle of the 
Hapsburgs upon his orange surcoat. He reined 
his white mule at the gate of the Vorburg, 
and wound a long blast upon his silver horn. 
Then his roaring summons roused all the castle. 

Ho ! Ulrich of Eisenach ! come forth, 
come forth and listen to the summons of your 
liege lord and emperor ! ” 

But Ulrich safe in the inner Hofburg swore 

6i 



THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


a great oath by Saint Jacobus that the herald 
might bawl until the bastion cracked before 
he stirred to hear him ; and the herald, hav- 
ing waited duly and gotten only curses through 
the loophole, completed his proclamation. 

In the Name of the Blessed Trinity^ Amen! 

I, Rudolf, Crowned of God, Emperor of 
the Romans, Graf of Hapsburg, and Freiherr 
of Argau, to Ulrich of Eisenach, and all who 
follow him, — greeting : — 

I do summon you to appear before my 
assize at Goslar, on the third Monday here- 
after following, to answer by what warrant you 
do hold this castle of the Wartburg to the 
detriment of its lawful master, our well-be- 
loved cousin the Landgraf of Thuringia ; and 
by what warrant you have halted, robbed, and 
slain divers of our loving subjects upon our 
highways, in violation of our Imperial peace. 

And especially we command you, under 
pain of our most condign displeasure, to de- 
liver instantly to this our herald the noble 
lady, Agnes, daughter of our trusty vassal 
Graf Ludwig of the Harz, whom you do de- 
tain in most unlawful custody. 

62 


THE HERALD OF THE KAISER 


And each and all of you who shall defy 
these our commands, we declare under our 
Imperial Ban, and as such our loyal subjects 
are commanded to apprehend or extirpate. 
Also by the special authorization of the holy 
Apostolic Inquisitor, the Archbishop of 
Mainz, we declare all contemners of our 
decrees excommunicated from the sacraments 
of Holy Church. 

** God save Kaiser Rudolf ! ** 

So cried the herald ; and when no intention 
was manifested of delivering up the Lady 
Agnes to him, he blew another great blast, 
and rode down the steep to leave Baron 
Ulrich and his merry men clear at their wits’ 
last end. 

No one could doubt that the extermination 
of Maid Agnes’s escort had been incomplete. 
Some one had escaped and told Graf Lud- 
wig. The lion was unchained in very deed ! 
In the great feasting hall the council met, but 
there was no wassail now. Ulrich’s scarred 
face was black with rage and dread. Priest 
Clement had nearly forgotten his scraps of 
Latin. The situation was plain enough. All 

63 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


through the wild and- wicked years following 
the death of Frederick the Second, Thuringia 
had belonged to the bandit barons who had 
watched the roads and ruled by ‘^fist-law.’* 
The power of the Landgraf had sunk to a 
shadow, and Ulrich and his crew had held 
the Wartburg for a decade. But there was a 
new kaiser now who had begun to end the 
merry dance of devils. Rumours blew north, 
— how in Swabia Kaiser Rudolf had beaten 
down castles and hanged many a reckless 
ritter on the pine tree facing his own 
smoking keep. And Graf Ludwig, the 
Imperial Vicar, had come to Thuringia 
with a goodly force to do the very same 
deeds ; therefore My Lord Ulrich had his 
food for thought. 

How many men will the Graf bring?’* he 
was asking. 

I have heard said,” quoth Michael, sul- 
lenly, he has more than two thousand, with 
battering mangonels, likewise a band of Eng- 
lish longbowmen who came with Duke Rich- 
ard of Cornwall and remained. No crossbows 
can match their archery.” 

And we have an hundred and twenty dogs 

64 


THE HERALD OF THE KAISER 


at most, and the Wartburg, though strong, has 
a vast circuit to defend. If cleared of this 
plight, I vow Saint Moritz of Coburg a chalice 
of heavy gold ! Is that overdear for the 
worthy saint’s aid — eh ! Clement? ” 

Ulrich leered at the priest, and the holy 
man twisted his nose, while meditating. A 
pious vow, noble Baron, a very pious vow ! 
N evertheless, — humph ! — what did you say ? 
How long did you think we could make good 
the castle? ” 

“Two days at most,” snarled Michael, 
crossly. 

“Two days, and then to heaven ! ” ran on 
Clement; “will the ladder be axe, sword, or 
rope? Ah ! Gratias Deo^ — a thought ! ” 

“What?” 

“That the wench Agnes is still with the 
hermit. It is wrong to outrage a saint sed 
necessitas non habet legem ; and we can also 
add a trifle to the weight of the chalice. In 
brief, seize her from the hermit, hold her 
hostage ; and when the Graf comes, force him 
to promise us at least our lives in exchange 
for her safety.” 

“ The saint will rage,” objected Michael. 

F 65 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


If your wisdom knows a better salve 
against the little pains of hanging, I am lis- 
tening,” laughed Clement, dryly. Whereat 
Ulrich leaped up with a jangle of armour. 

Priest Clement has the only sense. Be 
Jerome saint or devil, he must not keep the 
maid. Out, every man and lad ; arm heavily, 
and away to the Dragon’s Dale ! ” 

Therefore it befell that an hour later, just 
as the sun was scattering the last mists of the 
morning, the Baron led out his force, — an 
hundred odd of as hardened sinners as ever 
put on harness. Nevertheless it took all his 
oaths, and the well-grounded fears of a swift 
voyage to a nether country, to make the 
file advance when they began to enter the 
charmed region around the Dragon’s Dale. 

When they reached the cross where burgo- 
master Gottfred had been stricken, even 
Michael the Breaker wished to halt and pray. 
Ulrich and Clement walked behind with their 
lances to prod on the laggards. They reached 
the mouth of the Dragon’s Dale, and every 
man stood irresolute, nigh convinced that the 
first wight inside the ravine would be frozen 
into a black stone in a twinkling. Yet as they 
66 


THE HERALD OF THE KAISER 


scuffled and shrank, lo ! straight out from the 
wall of rock came running the saint himself, 
his white hair spread like a lion’s mane, wild 
fire in his eyes, his hands upraised now in 
prayer, now in cursings. 

In the name of the Lord Christ, — where ? 
where? ” 

‘‘Where, what?” demanded Ulrich, trem- 
bling, but not so much as before ; there was 
nothing awesome in the hermit now. 

“ The maid ! Maid Agnes, the Grafs 
daughter? She has vanished. You have 
stolen her. Oh ! may the curse of God light 
swift on you ! ” 

He was nigh crazed, and a mere madman 
was not very terrifying. So they plucked up 
courage, and stood their ground. 

“ Hark you, greybeard,” warned the 
Baron, roughly ; “ it is for the wench we are 
come ourselves. Do you think we would rout 
you out of your accursed den without fair 
cause? The maid we will have, or by the 
Trinity, — ” he broke off, the threat unfin- 
ished, and glared on the hermit, who ap- 
peared utterly unstrung. For an instant he 
seemed only the shambling dotard. 

67 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


^‘Gone! gone/^ he moaned abjectly. 
can find her nowhere. If you fiends do not 
possess her, she has perished amongst the 
cruel beasts.** 

The Baron was brave now, and advanced 
boldly. 

Here, Michael, — a cord ; pinion this bab- 
bler. We’ll hale him to the Wartburg, and 
then if the wench is not found, there’ll be 
tortures to wring out of him where he is 
hiding her. Forward, lads \ there’s nothing 
dreadful.** 

He snatched Jerome by the arm. Men 
looked to see a bolt crash down from heaven. 
None came. Jerome submitted like a lamb. 
Michael and Clement were at least brave 
enough to stand at either side as guards. 
Ulrich led thirty of his boldest down the 
Dragon’s Dale, crossbow strung, swords bare, 
— half disappointed they did not meet a 
fire-breathing goblin. They found the little 
hut empty ; they searched about the tree — 
only birds and dragon-flies. Maid Agnes was 
nowhere. Ulrich returning promised Jerome 
smart torture if the girl was not found. J erome 
gave back not a word. So at last the Baron 
68 


THE HERALD OF THE KAISER 


Started again for the Wartburg with his pris- 
oner, ordering the men to scatter through the 
greenwood, by fives and tens, and to scour 
knoll and dale for seven leagues about. Have 
the hostage they must, though they sought all 
night for her ! 

Once at the castle Ulrich ordered forth the 
bloodhounds. The pack went baying down 
the valley, the halloos of the hunt sounded 
far and wide in the forest ; but when the 
lanzknechts dispersed in little bands, they 
knew too well the paling dread of pixies to 
pry over deeply into the secrets of the wood. 
The hounds ran down all scents — but vainly. 
Priest Clement swore that the Brown Dwarfs 
had stolen the queen down to their under- 
world. Where, alas for her poor soul, since 
they were pagans all ! ” he added as became 
a holy cleric. The chase wandered far from 
the Wartburg. Presently Ulrich, disheartened, 
angry, turned back to the castle, with Clement 
and Michael, leaving the rest to carry on the 
hunt. Saint or no saint, he intended to test 
his prisoner by torture to see if he were hid- 
ing Agnes by some art-magic. It would be 
an impious deed, — Ulrich knew it, — but 
69 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


better impiety, than the falling into Graf 
Ludwig's iron clutches ! 

The Wartburg was nigh empty when the 
Baron reentered. In the courts some of 
the slattern women had lit huge bonfires, 
which roared up to the deepening sky, mak- 
ing turret and rampart frown down grimly. 
Franz, who had played castellan in his lord’s 
absence, reported the captive safe in the 
lower dungeon. The Baron cursed that no 
one had advised him to shoot down the herald, 
and so win extra time to prepare to face at- 
tack ; but there w^as only one thing to do now. 
Leaving Franz and a bare dozen of men-at- 
arms to patrol the battlement, he summoned 
Priest Clement and Michael to fetch him 
divers instruments ; then with them hastened 
down into the bowels of the great Wartburg 
rock. 

All that stone and steel could do to secure 
Jerome had been done. He was in a cell 
whither no sun had crawled since the build- 
ing of the Wartburg ; but the hermit had 
recovered his dignity. He faced the three 
men of blood with a cold, stern stare, which 
stole away half their courage. 

70 


THE HERALD OF THE KAISER 


Where is the maid?” demanded Ulrich, 
trying to set bravado up for valour. 

God knoweth, and in His wisdom keeps 
her hid, except you have already possessed 
yourselves of her, and seek this occasion 
against me.” 

Ulrich ostentatiously produced a mallet, 
and many little oaken wedges, while Clem- 
ent raised the smoking torch. Then the 
Baron’s tone grew threatening. 

‘‘ Hear you, old man ! be you saint or devil, 
we will have the maid. Whether angel or 
gnome has hidden her, and where, you know ; 
and by Saint Moritz ” — Ulrich felt safe in- 
voking that martyr, in view of his vow, — 
‘‘out with her hiding-place or try these 
pretty toys ! Behold ! ” 

The anchorite shrugged his shoulders with 
undisguised contempt. 

“Ulrich of Eisenach,” spoke he, sternly, 
“I answer you on the word of a Christian 
man, though a sinner, that I know not where 
the maid is. Doubtless it has pleased God 
to bring this thing to pass that you may rush 
headlong in your sins and dash to eternal 
perdition. As for these oaken splints, which 

71 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


you weakly design to drive betwixt my nails 
and fingers, — bethink you if a man like me, 
who has endured the worst gehennas of the 
paynim will flinch before your petty tor- 
ments? Or what will they profit you, save 
to heat sevenfold the fires now lit for you 
in hell?” 

Michael had been stripping back the 
sheepskin from the prisoner’s shoulder. 
Then, as the light flickered over it, leaped 
back in horror. 

Holy Mother ! His back, — all marked 
with scarce-healed scars ! ” 

Amen ! ” quoth Jerome, grimly; those 
and all other tortures are too gentle for my 
sins. Yet, if I would glory after the flesh, I 
can make boast that all your tortures, Ulrich 
of the Wartburg, will be to me as nothing.” 

^‘He is right,” groaned the Breaker, all 
his terrors springing up anew ; we are out- 
raging God’s saint. The demons will boil 
us forever ! ” 

‘‘ Silence, fool,” commanded Ulrich, grown 
desperate ; pass me yonder mallet, and hold 
fast his wrist. We will sound the depth of 
this loud boasting. Now and for the last 


72 


THE HERALD OF THE KAISER 


time, babbler ! Where hide you Agnes the 
maid? ” 

Jerome vouchsafed no reply. Ulrich was 
clutching the mallet and sliver when Franz- 
of-the-Ram's-Pate burst into the prison. 
Even in the gloom his face shone white as 
a ghost's. 

Up, for the love of Christ ! Horses and 
men are all about ! The Wartburg is sur- 
rounded." 

Whereat the three raced up from that 
dungeon, never waiting for the door to clash. 



73 



CHAPTER VII 

FRITZ THE MASTERLESS 

OW when Agnes awoke from her 
sleep, when she heard Jerome 
at his prayer, when she heard 
him call to God to remove his 
temptress, — sent to vex him by Beelzebub, 
catcher of souls, — then a surge of sorrow, 
deeper than she had ever known before, had 
swept over her heart. She had cried once 
and softly ; she had risen from her furze-bed, 
and reckless of everything had stolen away 
into the forest. Only one thing she knew, — 
the great saint hated her ! He believed 
Satan had thrust her upon him. She was 
too sinful to bear company with this holy 
man, and must flee away, far away ! All her 
heinous crimes rose up to stare her in the 
face, the thirty Aves her confessor had en- 

74 



FRITZ THE MASTERLESS 


joined upon her, and which she had forgotten 
to say, the five spice-cakes which she had 
filched from My Lady Abbess’s cupboard, 
and which she had never confessed at all, — 
these and more foul deeds weighed down her 
soul. The all-wise saint had beheld its vile- 
ness, and called to God to deliver her to her 
just possessor, Satan. 

When she knew aught else the great black 
woods were everywhere. There was only a 
flickering will-o’-the-wisp light here — there 
amongst the numberless trees. She dared not 
pray. Once she screamed, but the cry was 
dried up in her throat. In her blind anguish 
she wandered aimlessly through thorn and 
thicket, brier and brake. How many times 
she all but tripped into some ravine, or dashed 
on jagged rocks the angels in mercy hid, for 
Saint Azrael surely guided her wild feet then, 
though she thought the demons after her. 
At last spent with fatigue she sank upon a 
moss bank. An older person would have 
tossed and moaned till dawn ; happier she — 
once more her eyes grew heavy. Fear and 
anguish vanished. She could sleep. 

When Agnes this time woke it was with a 

75 


THE SAINT OF THE DEACON’S DALE 


start and with groaning. Trees, everywhere 
trees. The dawn was still young. The 
light was red. She was lonely, thirsty, hun- 
gry. There came a rambling rustle from the 
dead leaves near at hand. Hope leaped up 
that it was Harun, but only a tawny fox 
spread his proud brush and vanished, scam- 
pering at first sight of her. In these deepest 
glades of the beeches not a bird was carolling 
morning. 

Jerome ! Holy Saint Jerome ! I am 
wicked, but have pity. I am afraid of the 
great woods ! Oh, in mercy lead me back ! ” 
Her shrill cry went out in mocking echoes 
from an unseen dell. Not a thrush called in 
answer. She sank into frightened silence. 
After long waiting she gathered courage to 
summon Witch Martha, but that good woman 
never came. At last Agnes, made calm by 
desperation, took counsel. 

cannot stay here. I have nothing to 
eat. And I dare not die of hunger, for if 
I die, where is the priest to anoint me with 
the oil, and absolve my fearful sins? So I 
can never go to heaven. The woods cannot 
reach forever. No matter which way I go, 
76 


FRITZ THE MASTERLESS 


sooner or later, I must come to some house 
of Christian folk who will pity me. Only I 
must walk a straight line and never turn 
back.” 

At least walking was easier than still agony ; 
and she thrust boldly in among the trees. 
Before long she could quench her thirst in a 
tiny brook which sang along through hazel 
thickets. Then presently her heart gave 
a big throb. She was upon a path, weed- 
grown, leaf-strewn, yet a path, blazed through 
the forest. Surely it led to men, but whether 
a turn to right or left would reach a refuge 
soonest. Maid Agnes did not know. There- 
fore she made bold, despite her wickedness, 
to say a little prayer to Our Lady, asking 
her to guide the choice, shut her own eyes, 
and on one foot whirled around six times ; 
then when she looked again, followed the 
way which lay straight before her. She might 
have walked the tenth of a league before a 
clearing burst into view, — walls, fruit trees, 
a garden, and an orchard, but everywhere 
silence and desolation. Here was the black- 
ened foundation of a house and of two large 
barns, charred and rotting timbers, grass 

77 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


growing in the chinks of the mortar. The 
dwelling had been burned these two years. 
Yet Agnes was vastly comforted. The cherry 
trees of the orchard were heavy with round 
red fruit. A beam had fallen so that she 
could reach to a lower bough and pluck her 
fill. From the wild garden a linnet rose, in- 
terrupted in her feast of strawberries. Agnes 
had these too. The roses were climbing up 
the blackened wall, and the huge bees hung 
over them. Gorgeous butterflies spread their 
sails, and were wafted to and fro. But for 
the absolute solitude and the compelling fear, 
Agnes would have found this ruin the outer 
door to paradise. The sun had risen clear 
and warm, and the wood was giving forth the 
fragrant smell of green things growing. She 
ate cherries and strawberries until hunger 
was banished ; then at last came time to con- 
sider ‘^what next?’^ For no human help 
seemed here. 

She was sitting upon the beam, her head 
on two small hands, when a man’s shout 
startled her like a thunderclap. 

Heigh-ho ! Have we here a Queen of 
the Pixies?” 


78 


FRITZ THE MASTERLESS 


Agnes looked up, and behold a man stood 
by, but not a steel-capped lanzknecht of 
Ulrich as first fears told her. The stranger 
was a short, wiry man, very black, with 
a huge mustache, a beard cut to a most 
singular little peak. He was all dressed in 
untanned doeskin; a hunting-bag slung on 
his shoulder; in his belt gleamed twenty 
steel-tipped bolts ; in his hand was a cross- 
bow. He did not look at all fierce, and 
Agnes put on dignity. 

I am the daughter of Graf Ludwig of the 
Harz, and am lost in the forest. Place me 
in safety, and my father will reward you.” 

Graf Ludwig ! By Saint Lorenz ! ” The 
little man made the greenwood ring with 
laughter. I have distinguished company 
on my domain. And how came you to get 
lost?” 

But alas ! the story which Maid Agnes told 
her new friend was too wandering to seem to 
have overmuch truth in it, — Saint Jerome, the 
Abbess, and Baron Ulrich, all jumbled hope- 
lessly together. The fellow was only certain 
that a very rare bird had fluttered by a mira- 
cle into his net, and he was bound not to lose 

79 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


such gay feathers. So he merely took her by 
the hand, saying : — 

Come with me ; you will soon be safe and 
happy.** 

Where are we going ? ** 

‘‘To my cave; it is snug enough for a 
princess.** 

“ A cave, — not a house ? Who are 
you?** 

“My best name is Fritz the Masterless. 
First I was a peasant and followed a stupid 
plough, then I was a swineherd, then a man- 
at-arms, then a lanzknecht and watched the 
roads, but all my band was cut to pieces, sav- 
ing I, so I am now a poacher and a forest 
rover, and last of all, when the saints will, 
I shall be a gallows-bird, with a hemp collar 
and a dance on nothing, but zum! zum! — till 
then it is a merry life under the greenwood, 
a-following the deer.** 

Agnes hung back. 

“ You are an evil man,** she said soberly ; 
“ I will not go with you.** 

“And be left to wander under the trees, 
with never a house within these three leagues. 
Hoch ! No, little lady ; there is nothing 
8o 


FRITZ THE MASTERLESS 


gained by that. Come you do, will you, nill 
you.” 

The clasp on her hand tightened. Agnes 
knew resistance was vain. She followed 
silently, but her lips twitched. Oh ! if she 
had been only sinless enough to dwell with 
holy Jerome. 

****** 

In the deeps of the woodland Fritz the 
Masterless had his hold, — half cave, half hut, 
under the towering Rothenstein, — a cliff of 
gnarled red rock. Here Gerda, his strong- 
armed, swarthy wife, came to him, with Wolf 
his eldest, a sinewy lad of fourteen who could 
run like a rabbit, and also the pair of younger 
girls, coarse, tow-headed wights, who resem- 
bled Maid Agnes as two mongrels do a Cas- 
tilian spaniel. They surveyed the father’s 
booty with rude, gaping eyes, and Gerda 
sought greedily to see if the stranger wore no 
precious ring or jewelled crucifix; but Priest 
Clement had done that work too well, and 
she was disappointed. However, there was 
no doubting the value of Fritz’s catch. Such 
white skin and hands ! Such silken hair and 
dainty face I She might be the Kaiser’s own 

G 8i 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


daughter ; and her dress, if sadly torn, was 
of very silk from the great Cham’s own 
country ! 

Agnes bore all more steadfastly than one 
might dream. There was a Titter's red blood 
in her veins if she had been reared in the 
Bamberg convent. She protested stoutly 
that she was Graf Ludwig’s child, until Dame 
Gerda began to believe there was some fire 
behind so much smoke. So leaving Agnes to 
Wolf and the girls, she drew Fritz beyond 
earshot. 

She does not lie. She is the Grafs own 
child. And Ulrich of the Wartburg is back 
of her plight, I am bound.” 

Humph ! ” commented Fritz ; it is a 
parlous thing to have dealings with the Graf, 
or with Ulrich either. Ulrich will hang me 
for taking his deer ; the Graf for watching the 
roads. I am none too anxious for a voyage 
to purgatory that I desire to send a message 
to Ludwig, *1 have found your daughter.’ 
He will come with five hundred men in lieu 
of ransom, and my best reward will be a long 
drop to the slip-noose.” 

Gerda considered wisely. 

82 


FRITZ THE MASTERLESS 


Such white skin and hands ! There is a 
fortune in her.” 

Out with it then.” 

Wolf shall go to Eisenach to Mordecai the 
Jew. He smuggles many a wench south to 
Italy, though the saints know what becomes of 
them then ! He will give us round groschens 
for her.” 

Fritz frowned. His conscience troubled 
him, though only a little. 

If only Mordecai were not an unbeliever ! 
It is wrong to deliver Christians into the 
clutch of infidels. I have heard he sells his 
women as far as to the Muslims.” 

But Gerda had only a hoarse laugh. 

Pray for her soul if you will ! One must 
live ; and I will not see so much good silver 
glide out of my fingers vainly !” 

Therefore her spouse reluctantly con- 
sented, and presently Wolf had his orders, 
and went away slyly northwards toward 
Eisenach. 

Agnes was left in company with the girls. 
They gave her venison, and let her share the 
broth, which they all dipped with wooden 
spoons out of a great earthen pot. Her new 

83 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON'S DALE 


acquaintances were decently respectful, 
although coarse enough in speech and life, to 
make their poor guest plagued indeed ; but 
she needed little hinting that they were no 
friends, and that any attempt at flight would 
be hindered. The greenwood was still about 
Agnes ; but it was only a hateful prison now, 
not an enchanted realm of cousins to the 
angels, as it was around the Dragon’s Dale. 
Late in the afternoon Fritz came in with a 
long face. 

‘‘ Men and hounds are out in the forest. 
They are beating up all the coverts. Ulrich 
has ordered a boar hunt. We must lie close.” 

So Agnes perforce, crouched with the rest, 
in a cavern up the rock-slope, until the clear 
hunting-horns died away in the distance, and 
Gerda began to thank the saints. As the 
gloaming fell. Wolf returned, and whispered 
to his mother that the Hebrew would set 
forth at dawn, and would be glad to haggle. 
Agnes did not hear the words, but she saw 
the glint in Dame Gerda’s eye, and a cold 
shiver ran down her spine. The vagueness 
of her dread redoubled all the terrors, and 
hating all the rangers’ loathsome company, 
84 



“ ‘ Back to witch Martha ; back ! P'ly fast, as you 

LOVE ME.’ ” 




FRITZ THE MASTERLESS 


Agnes wandered out a little way across the 
narrow meadow before the cave-hut. Wolf 
watched narrowly, but she did not try to flee 
away. Seated upon a stump she was watch- 
ing the play of rosy light upon the scarred 
face of the Rothenstein, — when a whir of 
wings sounded, and whisk ! something 
alighted upon her shoulder, then a voice, but 
not human : — 

** Ho, he ! Never fear ! 

I’m Satan ! I’m here ! ” 

^^Zebek,” cried Agnes, oh, joy ! ” 

The raven was welcome as a brother. 
Then the bird cocked his wicked head, and 
winked his sage eye, with which winking 
came a thought. To pluck the white lace 
from her wrist, to twine it round the raven’s 
foot, — this was the deed of an instant. 

Back to Witch Martha ; back ! Fly 
fast, as you love me.” 

And Zebek, — wise beyond many a mortal, 
obeyed instantly, rising with one croak. 

Ho ! ” shouted Wolf, looking up ; a 
raven ! Ill luck ! Father, your crossbow ! ” 
Fritz levelled in a trice ; whir ” went the 

8s 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


bolt, but it was growing dark. One feather 
fluttered to the grass; another croak from 
mid-air. Zebek was gone, winging straight 
west. Dame Gerda looked as black as the 
bird, when she came from the hut. 

A raven, ill luck,^’ spoke she, and scolded 
Fritz and Wolf; to slay a raven worse luck ; 
but a vain bolt at a raven the worst luck 
of all. The bird will bear the grudge, and 
hatch us foulest weather.** 



86 



CHAPTER VIII 


GRAF LUDWIG 



HE trap had snapped. Ulrich of 
Eisenach was in it. He had 
doubled the vow to Saint Moritz, 
but with no avail. In the last 
twilight the frighted watchers at the Wartburg 
peered from their turrets, and saw the dim 
masses of horse and footmen spreading them- 
selves around the mountain, — hundreds, 
thousands. Graf Ludwig had been nearer, 
and in greater force than any lanzknecht 
dreamed. The Wartburg was ringed in by 
foes. 

But this was not the worst. Ulrich’s men 
were still beating up the forest, and the 
Graf had silently cut off their retreat. As 
they wandered home in sullen handfuls, 
cursing the bootless hunt, his sentries had 
nipped them, nearly all, taking prisoners after 

87 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON'S DALE 


few struggles and fewer blows. Only two, 
slyer than the rest, had crept through the 
besiegers, and into the postern, with a tale 
which made Priest Clement’s teeth chatter, — 
how Ludwig was at the gates with nigh three 
thousand men. 

Ulrich had felt hard knocks from the Devil 
ere now, but this was the hardest. The Wart- 
burg was a very Emperor of castles, — pro- 
visioned and garrisoned by eight hundred, it 
could hold Kaiser Rudolf at bay. But inside 
the walls the Baron could barely count on 
twenty men fit to strike a blow, and the 
sluttish women were good for nought save 
screaming. Ulrich dropped the portcullis, 
placed a catapult to command the gate, and 
set boxes of arrows along the ramparts to 
insure ready ammunition; but how were a 
score to defend the long circuit of the battle- 
ment ? The moat was almost dry. At dawn 
the Baron could kill a few attackers, but by the 
third hour after he knew well enough he would 
be voyaging toward heaven or elsewhere. 

Desperate enough was every one in the 
Wartburg. As the night blackened, their 
mood blackened, also. The sky was thickly 
88 


GJ^AF LUDWIG 


clouded, starless, and moonless. A murky 
hot wind fanned from the south, dead and 
stifling, — ^‘fit reminder,” so Michael forced 
the jest, of the breeze likely to blow in their 
next habitation.” Priest Clement, who stood 
beside him on the gate tower, trembled all 
over at the impious levity. 

Do you not fear God ? Are you so anx- 
ious for torment?” 

Humph!” grumbled the Breaker; ^^as 
much as you, holy Father. But I would have 
small respect for God if He were to forgive 
you or me now. We have made our bargain 
with Satan as do all fools, ^ for a short life 
and a merry one,’ and none should whine like 
a puppy if the landlord demands the ‘ drink- 
penny ’ at last.” 

‘‘You mean our souls?” moaned the 
priest. 

“Very likely; ha I what is that?” and 
Michael levelled his crossbow into the dark. 
From the gloom below the gate came a deep 
voice. 

“ Ho 1 Ulrich of Eisenach ; attend I ” 

“ I am listening,” bellowed the Baron from 
the tower ; “ who calls ? ” 

89 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


I, — Ludwig of the Harz ; hear now and 
all your men ! I command that you surrender 
the castle at dawn, that especially you de- 
liver up to me, instantly and unharmed, my 
daughter, the Lady Agnes, likewise the holy 
hermit Jerome, whom your men say you hold 
prisoner. Your naked state is known to us. 
Escape is impossible. Surrender now, and I 
promise your lives and liberties, with no more 
penalty than the trifling striking off of your 
two thumbs, that you may never more draw 
bow, or swing longs word ; if not — 

Ulriches voice tossed back an angry answer. 

‘‘ As for the Lady Agnes she i$ not with us. 
As for the hermit, when you storm the castle, 
we slay him. As for our thumbs they will 
swing our swords long enough to make your 
attack cost dear.^* 

Liar — do not say my daughter is not in 
your foul hold.” 

There was a ringing menace back of the 
word, which made even Ulrich quiver, and he 
turned to Franz. 

Go you and one other. Bring the hermit. 
Set him on the battlement. We will make 
him declare we have not the maid.” 


90 


GJ?AF LUDWIG 


So whilst defiance passed they brought 
Jerome, told him how the land lay, and the 
Baron unsheathed a dagger. 

Speak him fair now, or take home this ! ” 
and he pricked with the point, but even in 
the dark they saw the hermit’s grin of irony. 

Think you I am a child to fear the taste 
of steel? I say to you again,” and Jerome’s 
voice was almost proud, I could teach 
even to demons like yourselves rare niceties 
in the arts of death and torture, — the hell- 
deeds of the Turks, of the Sicilians — ” 

Silence,” raged Ulrich ; here, set him 
upon the battlement. Now, my Lord Graf, 
hearken, as the hermit Jerome declares to 
you that we have not your daughter.” 

But Jerome only lifted his fettered hands, 
and palled a terrible curse down on the Baron 
and his men. 

Smite ! Smite and spare not ! For the 
Lord has delivered these foes of His servants 
unto you. Root out His enemies. Let 
theirs be the fate of Dathan and Abiram, of 
Jezebel and Judas. Trust not their oaths, 
noble Graf, when they say they know nothing 
of your child. God knoweth the truth, but 


91 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


by their lies they would seek to deceive even 
Him and His Holy One ! 

Dash him down ! Quench this mad- 
ness ! 

Thus cried Ulrich, but even Michael would 
not raise his sword. 

At least, let us not murder this saint 
now / he resisted, and Ulrich blessed the 
darkness for hiding his own blenching skin. 

They haled Jerome back to his dungeon, 
and again through the dark came a sum- 
mons. ‘^Hear then, men of the Wartburg. 
All, who by dawn shall come out to me, 
shall have their lives, saving always Ulrich of 
Eisenach, and Michael the Breaker, whose 
heads are forfeit to the Kaiser, and that 
unfrocked priest Clement, who is reserved 
for the merciful and paternal chastening of 
the most holy Inquisitor at Mainz.” 

But here Priest Clement began to groan 
terribly, fearing the rack and faggots even 
more than the subsequent strappadoes by 
Satan. 

And you, Hans Broadfoot, and you, 
Joachim the Smith, except you surrender 
yourselves ere midnight, your brothers, whom 


92 


LUDWIG 


I hold prisoners, have their feet wedged into 
split logs, and those logs most duly enkindled. 
Therefore, learn wisdom swiftly. 

Whereupon two men-at-arms, who had 
been loudest and bravest for a fierce de- 
fence, became of a sudden thoughtful. 

‘‘And finally,” wound up the Graf, “I 
do counsel that you kindle no torch nor 
fire upon the battlement ; for I have placed 
Jack, Hodge, and Giles with twelve more 
picked English bowmen under your walls. 
Their eyes are like cats’, and their cloth- 
yard shafts are the swiftest messengers to 
the Devil.” 

So with a dry laugh away went the chief 
into the dark, leaving the defenders as help- 
less as caged rats who see the farmer come 
to drown them. 

There was nothing to be done. The long 
racks of lances in the great Waffensaal were 
mockery. No hands to wield them ! The 
Wartburg was strong, but there was no don- 
jon, separate from the outer hold, where a 
few desperate spirits could prolong resistance. 
Besides, succour was absolutely impossible. 
Before midnight, Hans and Joachim decided 


93 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


that they could not let their brothers be 
grilled just because they desired to have 
their throats cut at Ulrich’s side in the morn- 
ing. A little after midnight Michael killed a 
man who had tried to drop a rope from the 
battlement. Two hours after dawn, Ulrich, 
who had lain down, after leaving three men 
watching at the postern, returned and found 
only Franz. 

Where are the others ? ” asked the 
Baron. 

Deserted like the rest.” 

And why not you? ” 

Call me ‘ Ram’s Pate ’ an you will ; I can 
still die with my master.” 

My Lord Baron had a choking in his throat. 
He gave Franz his mail-clad hand, then or- 
dered him to summon Michael. 

‘‘All the rest have deserted, even the 
women,” reported the Breaker, grimly. 
“ In the Wartburg are you, Franz, Priest 
Clement, and your humble man-at-arms — 
not to mention the hermit down below.” 

“ The joust ends,” quoth My Lord. “ The 
camp below is stirring ; they attack us soon. 
Summon Clement. We must sound a parley 


94 


GJ?AF LUDWIG 


with the saints, though he is an indifferent 
pursuivant.” 

In the wide, empty court they found the 
priest. His eyes were red, his gait unsteady. 
He had been heartening himself in the cellar, 
but when they told what they wanted he 
sobered quickly. 

Woe is me ! All my sins flock home. 
It is I that need absolution.” 

A priest is a priest, and at least we have 
none better,” urged Michael, “ therefore 
haste ! Soon they will beat down the pos- 
tern.” 

** Ay,” lamented Clement, ‘ the validity 
of the sacrament depends not on the right- 
eousness of the cleric,* so runs the canon; 
but I am undone. None to absolve me, no 
masses, no indulgence ! I am damned for- 
ever 1 ’* 

The hermit, the saint ! ** this from the 
slow Franz. 

‘‘ The hermit ! the saint ! ** so cried Clem- 
ent ; and they all ran down into the dungeon, 
dragged their prisoner up into the great hall, 
and tore off his fetters. He, expecting in- 
stant death, bowed his head in silent prayer, 

95 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON'S DALE 


but did not try to escape. Then with the 
ruddy glare of dawn pouring through the 
eastern casement, those four wild men 
plumped on their knees before him. 

‘‘What do you wish?” said Jerome, open- 
ing his eyes. 

“ Oh, holy hermit, beloved of God,” prayed 
Clement, catching at the anchorite^s sheep- 
skin, “ absolve us, for we are nigh to death. 
We are sinful men, so hark to our con- 
fession.” 

Jerome frowned sternly. 

“ I am no priest,” he shot back, nigh in 
wrath; “you who call yourself priest hear 
these men’s confessions, and confess yourself 
to God. I am no intercessor for you.” 

“ Not so,” cried My Lord Baron, beginning 
to beat his breast ; “ you would not have us 
lost forever ! ” 

“ I am sinful like yourself. Refrain from 
sacrilege.” 

“Give attention, greybeard,” admonished 
Michael, laying his battle-axe significantly 
beside him ; “ you have the ear of St. Peter 
and of St. Gabriel, and have it better than 
most bishops too. Bid them make us a 
96 


GJ?AF LUDWIG 


smooth road to heaven, or it is the worse for 
you — by Our Lady of Lichtenfels — ” 

Blaspheme not the Mother of God,*^ 
thundered Jerome, as immovable as granite, 
‘^nor think by carnal threatenings to stir 
me/* 

Confess first,** advised Clement, sagely ; 
then we have but to wring ‘ absolve * out 
from his teeth, and we can sell our lives dear, 
fighting like the Christians that we are.** 

A rending crash without gave weight to 
his counsels. 

^^The postern yields,’* groaned Ulrich; 
let us confess.’* 

So all four beat their breasts, repeating 
their mea culpas; then the Baron spoke 
first : — 

Hearken to my confession. I have sinned 
against God, His Mother, and the Holy 
Angels, inasmuch as I melted into a drinking- 
cup the golden crucifix which I took from the 
body of the Abbot of Nordhausen after that 
I had slain him.** 

And Michael the Breaker spoke : Hear 
me. I also have sinned, inasmuch as last 
Ash Wednesday in my forgetfulness I ate the 

H 97 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


leg of a fowl at a farm-house we were 
pillaging.” 

And Franz of the Ram’s Pate spoke : 

Hear me. I also have sinned, inasmuch as 
I hunted a buck on the day of the last Com- 
munion, despising the holy sacrament.” 

And Priest Clement spoke : Hear me. I 
also have sinned, inasmuch as forgetful of my 
sanctity as clerk, I did kiss the daughter of 
mine host of the ‘ Crown and Bells ’ the last 
Sunday that I was in Eisenach.” 

And now,” commanded Ulrich, roundly, 

speak it out, the word ^ absolve I ” 

What strange thing played on Jerome’s 
stern face? Was it the smile of the avenging 
angel or of the demon who sees his sinking 
prey? Louder the crash and wrack with- 
out. The Graf was almost in the Wartburg. 
Jerome’s eyes seemed burning into all the 
four. 

^^Is this demanded he, implacably. 

Have you no murders, thefts, gross wicked- 
nesses of the flesh to own to, ere you pass to 
God’s assize? ” 

‘‘A few throat-cuttings, holy Father, only a 
few,” smoothed Clement ; I do assure you 
98 


GRAF LUDWIG 


the Church lays major stress on what we 
have acknowledged, and time now presses.” 

Jerome swept his hands about in fearful 
anger. 

‘ Depart from me, ye cursed, into ever- 
lasting fire, prepared for the Devil and his 
angels I When I absolve such as you let 
Satan possess my soul with yours ! ” 

You will not? ” shrieked Michael, leaping 
up and waving the axe. 

No, since I fear God ! ” 

The Wartburg shook with the bursting of 
the last barrier. They heard a whooping 
war-shout. 

^^An end to this folly,” cried Ulrich, his 
sword leaping forth ; kill him first, then go 
out fighting, whether St. Michael or Beelzebub 
snatch us.” 

Jerome never blinked. They cursed, 
raved, but he was silent. Now feet trampled 
in the court. Priest Clement grew grey with 
fear, but he swung an axe too. 

Absolvo ! Absolvo / Say but the word,” 
he screamed, and buffeted Jerome, who stood 
like a stony tower, silent, but frowning 
terrible. 


L. of C. 


99 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


Kill him ! Curse him ! ” cried Clement ; 
‘^they are on us, and we are burned forever/' 
But high above the groan of the hunted and 
the shout of the hunters sounded the Grafs 
voice : — 

For the love of Christ ! Hold ! " 



CHAPTER IX 


HARUN KNOWS THE WAY 



iilEFORE the dawn the moon had 
gone down; the twinkling stars 
only made the vast night blacker. 
A wind was tumbling the forest 
boughs till they clashed and groaned like 
the spirits of lost souls. The fox was crouch- 
ing in his covert, the sleepy redbreast in 
his hollow peered forth once to see if the 
dawn were near, — only blackness in the east, 
and the bird again hid his drowsy head. Yet 
there was life in the forest, — a living thing 
was moving. Here the twigs snapped ; there 
a thorn- bush crackled. A deer was roving, or 
what else? Had any eyes pierced through 
the dark, they might have seen a form — a 
human form — thrusting across the thickets. 
Witch Martha seemed to need no eyes; if 
eyes she had, they were those of an owl or 


lOI 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


of an angel who saw the hidden things of the 
night. On her shoulders sat the two ravens, 
and once when she stumbled over a rotted 
bough the twain croaked out together, but 
she bade them silence ” in so sharp a voice 
that Zodok and Zebek kept their wisdom 
shut within their heads. Once Martha’s 
little body ceased its gliding, and she laid 
her head down to the ground and listened. 

I can hear it, — the gushing of the stream. 
I approach the Dragon’s Dale.” 

Then with surer motion she went onward. 
Soon the leafy roof was breaking overhead. 
She saw the stars blink down at her. There 
was a clearing, and the traced outlines of a 
tiny hut. And Witch Martha stopped and 
looked about her. 

No glow of embers from the door; no stir 
of human life. The long boughs above 
moaned out her only welcome. But of a 
sudden there was a stealthy footfall from the 
thicket, and then a whining cry, low and 
plaintive as a child in pain, but ending with a 
wild and brutish wail ; and Martha turned 
quickly toward the sound, whilst the two 
ravens flapped and cawed again. 


102 


HARUN KNOWS THE WAY 


^^Harun!” cried Martha; and again in 
answer came that wail. Then a dark form 
slipped out of the covert, a damp muzzle 
sniffed at Martha^s hands, into her face 
peered two great coals of fire, — the great 
wolfs eyes, — and Harun whined with his 
delight. 

Gone ; he is gone,” spoke Witch Martha. 
‘‘They have borne St. Jerome to the Wart- 
burg, and the little lady — she is vanished 
too.” To which Harun whined yet more. 

“ And you are lonely, and have sought for 
him in vain? ” Another whine. “ And he is 
in peril, and war rages round the Wartburg? ” 

The wolf stood waiting, wagging assent 
with his tail. Then Martha changed her 
voice. “ Hark, Harun, we must find the 
little lady.” He gave back a bark. “You 
must show me the way. You must sniff at 
this.” And she held to his muzzle something 
white. “Do you understand? Yes?” for 
Harun’s bark was knowing now. “ You will 
lead the way ; I will follow. We will find the 
little lady together.” 

Well that Martha had the airy elves or some 
other potent sprites to aid. Over thorn and 
103 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


bush, over dale and hillock, led Harun, now 
swift, now slow. Once he missed the scent, 
and whined hard till he found it. When he 
reached the spot where Agnes had cried out 
the former night he stopped ; but Martha 
would not let him stay. Weariness, dark- 
ness, — what were they to fright her ? Then 
he found the way to the deserted garden, just 
as the first glimmer of pale dawn spread over 
the Thuringerwald, and presently Harun held 
his mouth close to the ground, and gave a 
little cry different from any before. 

‘‘Another in the forest? Some one has 
joined the little lady? It is so?” 

Thus Martha ; and Harun answered with 
another cry. Then he shambled off so rap- 
idly, that his comrade, swift and cat-footed 
as she was, might scarce keep up with him. 
Now the grey dawn burst into red gold, and 
the gold turned into fire. Now the bird- 
song woke in the forest, and the strong breeze 
sank to a dreamy whisper, as if to lull to the 
last fond sleep ere the waking. The great 
beech avenues spread off into dimming vistas, 
and through their midst peered out the pur- 
ple-breasted hills. But Witch Martha only 


104 


HARUN KNOWS THE WAY 


looked before her keenly, and said within 
her sly old breast : — 

As I feared, — to the Ro then stein and the 
hold of Fritz the Masterless. What now is 
best? Back to the Lord Graf, and ask him 
for men ? But in that time there is room for 
many a deed.’* 

Hereupon Zodok shook his glossy wings 
and cried : — 

“ Good Christians, look out ! 

The Devil’s about ! ” 

Ay,” quoth his mistress ; for Fritz is no 
small devil, and Dame Gerda is one greater, 
— the less cause to leave a dove inside their 
cage.” 

And now her feet ran swift beside those of 
Harun. 

Then before them, tawny, steep, the Roth- 
enstein reared clearly, and in front a thin, 
grey vapor of rising smoke. Whereat Witch 
Martha halted, and her finger warned Harun 
that he lag behind. Soon this was the song 
which Fritz the Masterless and Wolf heard 
whilst they placed the kettle before the cave. 
At first they thought only the trees were 
crooning ; then that the thrushes talked. Then 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


their stout knees knocked together, and they 
began to mutter a prayer to good Saint Anne. 

“ I have come down the moonbeam’s path soft veer- 
ing,— 

Forth ! forth, — from your bat -black den ! — 

On the wings of the night-doves silent steering, — 
Swift ! swift, — ere I call again ! 

Oh, woe to the peasant, — oh, woe to the knight ! 
To the lad or the lass who my summons may slight. 

** I have tethered my car with the spider’s glister, — 
Forth ! forth, — for my weirds are fleet ! — 

Its driver skilled was the wood-moth’s sister, — 
Swift ! swift, — come my goblin’s feet ! — 

Oh, ’twere wiser to win the elf-king’s spite 
Than that lad or lass should my summons slight ! 

“ I have learned the lore which the wild owl whistles ! 
Forth ! forth, — for my mercy dies ! — 

I have wove me a dress from the silk of thistles ! 

Swift ! swift, — see my sprites arise ! — 

Oh, the hawk’s grey wing or the sable of night 
Shall not save nor hide, who my summons slight ! ” 

Now Fritz the Masterless would have 
faced with a stout heart an old bear or three 
men ; but to hear such a singing from the 
wood was a sore test for any Christian. Like- 
wise young Wolf who stood at his father’s 
side let the crossbow clatter out of his 
io6 


HARUN KNOWS THE WAY 


hands almost into the fire. And when they 
saw the black figure of Witch Martha — the 
redoubtable woman whom half of Thuringia 
knew had Baalberith, Behemoth, Elimi, and 
divers other lively devils at her constant beck 
— only the saints kept their hair from rising. 
Such an hour ! such a song ! such a spell on 
them already ! The two stared at her with 
wide-open mouths and eyes. 

Martha came straight on, gliding — never 
walking. She approached the fire and the 
twain. Upon the turf from right to left she 
drew a circle with her staff around them. 
Then she spun about on one foot till their 
wicked eyes grew dizzy watching her. When 
halting suddenly she looked on Fritz the 
Masterless, who blurted out a blunt question 
as to her errand, and grew of a sudden tongue- 
tied ; whereat Witch Martha answered in a 
chant that made Fritz and Wolf helpless as 
young calves. 

“ The maiden ye hold, 

In evil hands bold 
Release her, release ! 

Or, by every spell 
In heaven or red hell. 

Your bating breaths cease. 

107 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


“ The efreets of night, 

The angels of light, 

Have laid the command; 

From the Dawn-spirit’s hall. 

At the Dragon-prince’s call, 

I am sent, I am sent, 

Agnes, maid, to demand ! ” 

Had the witch’s voice power to freeze their 
breasts to ice? Fritz’s hand twitched on his 
hunting-knife. A flash from Martha’s eye — 
it sank palsied from the hilt. But Wolf was 
stouter hearted than his sire. So much good 
silver from Jew Mordecai lost? Not without 
one struggle. As a doe poises for the bound 
he made to leap from the charmed circle, but 
his captor’s glance was too quick. He hesi- 
tated, was lost. For Martha’s hands flew in 
mystic passes, the two ravens screamed to- 
gether, and the enchantress sang : — 

“ Cross the line, the fiends are waiting; 

Death is sure, none shuns the fating 
Writ up large on high ! 

Either now obedient bending 
Soon afar Maid Agnes sending 
Or thou’ It doom-struck lie.” 

Then her hands twirled swifter, and now 
Wolf felt the chills within his marrow. 
io8 


HARUN KNOWS THE WAY 


** Moment, moment, swiftly gliding. 

Mortals’ woe or weal deciding. 

Never slack ’ning nor abiding, — 

Thou shalt tell how chance shall fly ! ” 

Ho, Gerda ! called Fritz, ready to give 
a thousand bezants (if he had had them) to 
loose those fetters unseen ; bring out Maid 
Agnes, and quickly, in Our Lady’s name.” 

He hoped the mention of that blessed name 
would rob the witch’s eyes of their power, 
but that desire was vain. Forth ran Gerda 
and the girls, but the latter shrank back into 
the hut a-shivering. Gerda was of bolder 
stuff. She tried to brave out Martha’s gaze, 
to parley, question, and refuse to give the 
prisoner ; for even she was not bold enough 
to deny that they held the maid. But her 
shrill tongue tripped, her proud front fell, 
and she grew chill also at the witch’s new 
singing : — 

“ Woman bold, I see them flutter. 

Now they menace, now they mutter, — 

Elf and goblin round thy head ! 

Witless wight, thine eyes are holden. 

Thou see’st not the silk-spells moulden. 

Woven with the shuttles golden. 

By which captive thou’lt be led.” 

109 


THE SAINT OF THE DEACON’S DALE 


Then Witch Martha went on to sing of 
other awful things right on the edge of happen- 
ing, if Dame Gerda stopped to bicker longer. 
And the goodwife whimpered out that — 
They were poor folks, had meant no ill, 
and had found the little lady in the forest. 
Let the good mother take her, with their 
blessing, and unloose the spell.’* 

But here right from the hut ran Agnes, — 
fearless, glad, and flew to Martha with wide- 
open arms. The witch laughed once, — a 
laugh that made Dame Gerda sure the two 
ravens were a pair of fiends, very anxious for 
her own and her children’s souls. Then the 
sorceress moved about the circle, drawing 
the staff from left to right, and so lifting a 
great load also from Fritz’s and Wolfs blank 
minds. She took Maid Agnes by the hand ; 
the ravens cawed again. She flourished thrice 
on high, and they saw her vanishing in the 
forest. But, even when hid, her song pealed 
clearly ; — 

“ Up away ! the wood-thrush calls us. 

Over ash and beech and thorn ! 

Up away ! the king-oak calls us, 

Singing with his leaves to morn. 


no 


IIARUN KNOWS THE WAY 


For the wind-lord wakes, 

Through the greenwood shakes 
All the trees, 

In his glees 

As he greets the fire-kissed dawn I 

“ Swift away ! the west wind bears us 
Over mount and dale and hill. 

Swift away ! the flower-breath bears us 
Where the bees their sweet stores fill. 

For the wood-queen wakes, 

And her rose-crown shakes. 

Laughing clear. 

To my ear, — 

For her trilling lips are a bubbling rill ! ” 

****** 

Dear Martha,” said Agnes, what did 
you do to Fritz and to Wolf and to Gerda? 
By your songs could you really turn them 
into stone or give them to the gnomes and to 
the brownies ? ” 

Martha perked her head and answered : — 
Ah, little lady, whether I could or I could 
not, those three thought I could, and by the 
lizard’s spawn” (at which uncanny oath 
Agnes herself grew creepy), “it is what men 
and moles think, not what things are, that 
makes all the rift betwixt popes and peasants.” 


Ill 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON'S DALE 


‘‘Dear Martha/’ said Agnes, sorely trou- 
bled, “ say that you really do not have friend- 
ship with the Devil.” 

“ Friendship little, but acquaintance ; ” 
yet here the smile which spread on Witch 
Martha’s face grew tremulous, she stood stock 
still, took the little maid in her arms, and 
kissed her. “ Oh ! may you never know ! 
Oh ! may you never lose ! Oh ! may you 
always see the brightness of Our Lady’s 
heaven, and forget that the dear God beside 
His mercy has His wrath ! ” 

“ What are you saying? ” The child looked 
perplexed. 

“Foolishness!” spoke Martha; but her 
little body shook with one long sigh. “ Ah, 
little one, I have frighted you. But I will 
never fright you more. So be comforted, 
for, by Our Blessed Lord, I have never set 
eye on gnome nor efreet nor devil. Only I 
use the wit that heaven sends, and by its aid 
I saved you. And now hearken to strange 
news.” 

Then she told Agnes how the Wartburg 
was beset by her father ; of the sore plight 
of Jerome; and how they must make all haste 


II2 


HARUN KNOWS THE WAY 


to reach the besiegers ere the last attack, 
‘‘lest the holy Jerome become a saint in 
heaven in sorry deed.” 

Agnes did not weep when she heard of 
Jerome’s danger. 

“ He must not die yet,” was all she said ; 
“ for I heard him praying and saying that I 
was a temptress sent from Satan. He must 
never go up to visit the dear God and tell 
Him that.” And for a while Witch Martha 
found her feet too slow for those of the 
child. 

They threaded the forest, not in the cir- 
cling blind mazes which Agnes had followed 
when alone, but in the straight path which 
Harun found for them, and it was not long 
before they heard the brooklet brawling, and 
Agnes clapped her hands. 

“The hut, the stream, and the Dragon’s 
Dale ! The dear Dragon’s Dale ! ” 

But they might not tarry, and Martha saw 
with joy that the red banner of Ulrich still 
was flying above the Wartburg. 

“ Not too late ! ” 

Again they plunged into the greenwood, 
but now by familiar paths. Agnes’s feet 
I 113 


THE SAINT OF THE DEACONS DALE 


were heavy now, but she did not falter. 
Presently there was a clatter of armour, and 
tall men-at-arms in plated hauberks stood 
across their path, — an outpost of the be- 
siegers. 

‘‘ Who comes ! 

But when Witch Martha declared who her 
companion might be, and when the soldiers 
saw that the maid was indeed of their own 
master’s face and eyes, and that her dress, 
though tom, was that of a great lady, the 
dapper Freiherr, their young chief, swept his 
plumed cap across his knees in knightly hom- 
age, and the shout flew up the slopes of the 
Wartburg, through all the assailants’ camp : — 

‘‘ Found ! found ! found ! the little lady, 
the Grafin ! ” 

Then how Graf Ludwig turned from the 
attack, with his feet almost in the castle court, 
there is no need to tell. 



CHAPTER X 

THE EVENING LIGHT 

the attackers moved once 
e on their prey they entered 
great court of the Wartburg, 
and never a sword flashed forth 
to halt them. But as Freiherr Gustav at 
their head bade his men scatter through dun- 
geon and attic, to drag the victims forth, lo ! 
he and the three hundred at his back halted, 
then stood awed and reverent, as the figure 
of Jerome of the Dragon’s Dale moved to 
meet them. Then some doffed their basi- 
nets, some even fell on their knees, but all 
besought his blessing, for they knew that 
here was the saint of the Thuringerwald. 
And Freiherr Gustav, bowing the knee, with 
loud voice thanked Our Lady and Her 
Blessed Son who had released from sorest 



115 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON'S DALE 


peril this holy man ; then vowed to Jerome 
that his late oppressors should shortly have 
foretastes of their everlasting gehenna. But 
Jerome stayed him with a sign, forbidding the 
doing of this reverence. 

For I have come to confess mine own 
great fault when I cried to you to destroy 
this Ulrich and his men. I have heard by 
your glad shouts that Agnes the maid is 
found, and in the respite whilst you tarried, 
the Spirit of God, speaking from my mouth, 
has touched these despairing sinners, and they 
will submit themselves to you, expecting no 
mercy from man, but trusting even at the 
eleventh hour to the abundant mercies of 
God. Therefore I command you to be ex- 
ceeding pitiful unto them, and let him that 
is guiltless himself cast the first stone against 
them.” 

Now this exhortation to compassion Frei- 
herr Gustav loved little ; but who could say 
“ no ” to a living saint ? So he ordered 
Jerome to be escorted down the slope to Lud- 
wig, at whose mercy any captives lay ; while 
the Freiherr’s men soon haled out Ulrich 
and Michael, Franz and Clement, and the 

ii6 


THE EVENING LIGHT 


four were speedily roped, and shiveringly 
awaiting the result of the holy man’s embassy. 

Jerome found the Graf before a splendid 
tent, with pages and squires about him, him- 
self, in his silvered hauberk, the tallest and 
proudest of them all; but nestled against 
his side, tattered, mud-stained, dishevelled, 
happy, stood Agnes the maid. When she 
saw Jerome she forgot that he had prayed to 
be delivered from her tempting. She gave 
the coo of a dove beholding its long-sundered 
mate, and ran to him, and he, never asking 
whether he staked his soul or not, reached 
down to her, closed his arms on her, and 
kissed her red mouth seven times. Some 
smiled, a few nigh laughed, a few nigh wept, 
but no man thought Jerome the less a saint. 
Then when Agnes saw so many eyes upon 
her she grew scared, and fled into the tent ; 
but the great Graf himself had bended the 
knee before Jerome. 

Holy Father,” spoke Ludwig ; and he lifted 
his plumed casque, so that the hermit could 
look fairly upon his proud, strong, bearded 
face. ‘‘Holy Father, you have saved from 
death or worse my only child. Florins or 
117 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


fief-lands you do account as vanities, or I 
would proffer them. Yet what shall be your 
reward? Shall I give doles to two thousand 
poor at Goslar? Shall I set crucifixes at 
three hundred cross-roads? Shall I give 
Saint Michaelis of Hildesheim pyx, chalice, 
and candlestick of pure red gold?” 

^^None of these things, though all such 
works are holy,” answered Jerome ; yet as he 
spoke, and gazed upon the Graf, in some 
strange manner he seemed all unstrung, so 
that some whispered darkly, Ulrich has 
tortured him.” But still he looked on Lud- 
wig with wide, heart-searching eyes ; and as 
he looked the chief was marvellously troubled 
also. 

None of these things,” spoke Jerome, as 
if compelling speech by force of will ; if 
gratitude is mine, let my reward be this, — 
the lives of Ulrich and his crew, that they 
may be yet changed from Children of Wrath 
to Children of Obedience.” 

But here My Lord Graf was very sore dis- 
pleased. One could see the purple veins in his 
high forehead swell, and through his haughty 
lips sped forth an oath, — yet in no Christian 

ii8 


THE EVENING LIGHT 


tongue, — a cry to some foul jinn of the East. 
Then to his great amaze Jerome staggered as 
though a sling-stone smote him. 

‘‘ Catch him 1 He faints ! ” 

So cried the Graf, outstretching a strong 
arm, and many ran, but the hermit rose in 
stately pride. Next in that same strange 
Orient speech he addressed Ludwig, and the 
proud chief in turn startled. 

Invoke no paynim fiends but answer. 
Have you been long in the East?^’ 

‘‘Yes.” But in turn Ludwig gazed as do 
men when turning mad, while two squires, 
not understanding the tongue, crossed them- 
selves, fearing their lord was wantonly anger- 
ing the saint. 

“ How long? ” 

“ Five years at Acre, two at Antioch, three 
years a prisoner at Hems.” 

“ That was a long time since? ” 

“I have been in Europe now fourteen 
years.” 

Jerome was staring harder than ever, and 
all men grew more frighted. Why did he 
press the Graf so fiercely? Why did the 
Graf tremble as he answered? 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


“ And you say your name is — ” 

Ludwig of the Harz but again the Graf 
winced, and the wondering bystanders knew 
not what to hope or what to fear. They saw 
Jerome^s stern face growing all grey and pale, 
yet still he questioned. 

You were three years a prisoner at Hems, 
then returned direct to Germany? 

No j I searched for my father. I had 
heard he had entered a convent when I was 
taken, but I could not find him. He is 
surely dead.’^ 

The Graf was retreating step by step ; the 
hermit followed him. They could see Jerome 
was nigh to falling, and that his great will 
bore him up. 

And was that father a man swift to wrath 
and swift to strike ? ” 

‘‘Yes; but, ah! dear Christ, so was 1 1 
and now the Graf was more ashen than the 
hermit. 

“ And did you and your father part in love 
or hate ? Speak for the fear of God ! ” 

“ He cursed me. He is dead. At the Judg- 
ment Bar he will rise up against me. I can- 
not bear it. God can forgive me ; never he.” 


120 


THE EVENING LIGHT 


Ludwig pressed his hands to his face ; his 
great frame shook. 

Now tell what was your father’s true 
name,” commanded the hermit. 

I will not tell ! ” The Graf nigh 
screamed it in panic-stricken defiance. 

You will tell, and tell it truly, that God 
may pity you on His last Great Day. What 
was your father’s name?” 

Heinrich of Waldau.” 

And your true name is not Ludwig, 
but — ” 

Sigismund.” The word was dragged 
across the Grafs set teeth. But a loud cry 
rang through the forest. 

Jesu ! ” 

And Jerome lay as one dead upon the 
greensward. 

* * * 

Many swore he is dead,” and even the 
Grafs Padua-trained physician was one of 
them. Blit Witch Martha brought him back to 
breath, though it took small wisdom in leech- 
craft to know that if he woke at all, it could 
not be for long. Nevertheless he did wake 
just as the afternoon shadows were falling in 


I2I 


THE SAINT OF THE DEACON’S DALE 


slanting glory across the hill of the Wartburg. 
Many stood by, hoping to be edified by the 
last words and moments of a very saint ; but 
Graf Ludwig made a commanding gesture, 
and all vanished from the tent, saving he. 
Then he knelt down by the camp-bed, and a 
tear rolled down the iron cheek of Ludwig 
of the Harz, to fall on the iron cheek of 
Jerome of the Dragon’s Dale. 

My father.” 

My son.” 

That was all for a very long time ; and then 
Ludwig (for so men would call him still), that 
tall strong man, before whom robber-barons 
trembled, spoke, and his voice was nigh to 
sobbing. 

Father, father, I have sinned against 
heaven, and am not worthy to be called 
your son.” 

‘^The fault was mine, Sigismund, — mine.” 

Thus Jerome, but Ludwig answered him : — 

‘‘ I was wilful and swift to wrath. I defied 
you at Antioch when we stood in the room 
where the form of my sister Agnes lay un- 
buried. I have richly earned your curse. I 
strode from your presence impenitent. I 


122 


THE EVENING LIGHT 


rode away on the foray to Hems, and was 
taken prisoner. Amongst the infidels I was 
once close to winning liberty by renouncing 
Our Lord. What but the prayers of Ma- 
thilda, my sainted mother in heaven, of my 
angel sister, and of you held me steadfast? 
I escaped from captivity to hear that you had 
returned to Europe to bury yourself in a 
convent. I sought in every abbey in France 
and Italy, Germany and Spain, to fall at your 
feet, and crave but the two words, ^ I for- 
give.’ Finding you not, I was sure that you 
were dead, and at the throne of God would 
rise up, implacable, to accuse me ; and your 
curse is dinning in my ears ever ! ever ! ” 

‘‘They told me you were slain before 
Hems,” said Jerome, simply. 

“ I had disgraced your name. I took an- 
other. In the war and wrack, into which 
Germany fell, I found means of advancement. 
I married a woman, pure and good, but the 
wise God soon took her away. She left a 
little maid. I named her Agnes for my sis- 
ter. Is she not an angel born? ” 

“And I dreamed she was a fiend,” said 
Jerome. 


123 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


^^And now, my father, I have prospered 
mightily. I am trusted of kaiser and feared 
of vassal. I have lands, and lieges, and nobly 
growing fame. But your curse has bitter ed 
every sweet; has darkened every sunbeam. 
Forgive, forgive me, oh, my father ! ” 

Jerome sat upon the camp-bed, and his 
lips moved in prayer. 

Now God be merciful to me, a sinner.” 
Then he looked on the Graf, who had 
bowed his head, whilst tears rained fast. 

I will forgive you, oh, Sigismund, for whose 
soul I have prayed and striven these many 
years. For you I have fled the world, the 
company of men, the love of women, wres- 
tling, toiling, suffering, that I might redeem 
your soul from the endless death. I will 
forgive you. But do you first forgive me? ” 
And then what more they said it is not 
wise to tell. 

After a while Jerome asked of Ludwig : — 
‘‘Where is the little maid?” So they 
brought in Agnes, who cooed and chattered 
in the great saint’s arms, for “saint” she 
would call him still, though he said he was 
her grandfather. 


124 


THE EVENING LIGHT 


And you will take him away with us to 
Goslar? ’’ she asked the Graf ; ‘‘and because 
he is holy you will set him over the abbey, 
and he shall dwell in splendid state with 
chaplains and palfreys, acolytes and squires, 
like the Lx)rd Prince Bishop of Bamberg? ” 

Ludwig answered “ Yes ” ; but Jerome only 
repeated : — 

Chaplains and palfreys, acolytes and 
squires, — mine ? 

Whereat — most marvellous of all the mar- 
vels written in this book — the Saint of the 
Dragon’s Dale laughed as brightly as might 
Maid Agnes herself ; and she was very happy. 
After a while he kissed Agnes again, and 
grew pensive ; yet, as all others listened, 
Jerome spoke : — 

“ I am weary, weary. I have waited long. 
But God is very good, and of the things to 
come I can fear nothing. I have wrought 
and fought in North Land and South Land, 
with paynim, with Christian. Byzantium 
and Paris, Jerusalem and Bergen, Palermo 
and Cairo, — I know them all. I have suf- 
fered and sorrowed, in pain and in darkness, 
but at the end, at the end, — ” and his face 


125 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


glowed with it sinborn brightness, — “ it shall 
come to pass, that at evening time there shall 
be light! ” 

****** 

They found him in the morning sleeping. 
Maid Agnes wept for long. Graf Ludwig 
was shut within his tent an hour, and went 
for a month with a face which men had fear 
to look upon. There was wisdom in plenty, 
for some said that Jerome had long been 
suffering of a mortal complaint which only 
his iron will had battled back, and now that 
will was relaxed; others, that in excess of 
joy the mortal cords were loosed ; but most, 
that angels had visited him by night to 
set him in the burning chariot and bear him 
up to heaven. Yet all were agreed in saying, 
It is well; to-day the bells on high must 
ring, and all the golden streets be garland- 
lined, for Christ’s strong warrior enters for 
his crown.” 

The Prior of Halberstadt who rode with 
the army fain would have had the holy clay 
transported to his abbey, there to be cased 
in gold, and adored by many a pilgrim ; but 
Graf Ludwig answered sternly, Nay,” for 
126 


THE EVENING LIGHT 


he knew his father’s heart. Therefore they 
wound down the Dragon’s Dale, — priests, 
and lords, and men-at-arms, approaching the 
hut in the clearing. No sombre procession 
this ; but for the lack of heralds and of 
minne-singers one might have deemed it a 
triumph. ^‘Alleluia!” sang many, as they 
started the red deer in the coppice ; and soon 
all broke forth into praise of Our Blessed 
Lady, who welcomed her servant home. 

“ Ave mar is Stella 
Dei Mater alma, 

Atque semper virgo 
Felix coeli porta ! ” 

And the stream as it purled through the 
Annathal, the birds as they answered the 
talking pines, the wind as it crooned over 
the green sea of the Thuringerwald, — all 
swelled the echoing chorus, — 

“ Alleluia ! Alleluia ! Alleluia ! Amen ! ” 

Graf Ludwig strove to penetrate Witch 
Martha’s secret when he thanked her for the 
service done his child. Would she not come 
to Goslar? Would she not forsake her un- 
canny art and be a nurse and governess to 
127 


THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON^ S DALE 


the little Grafin? She had only refusals. 
She would tell nothing of her life-story, — 
which Ludwig guessed must have been a 
strange one, — she would not quit the forest. 
She only accepted a little gold *^that she 
might not vex him.’^ 

‘‘The greenwood covers many a secret, 
and let it cover mine,” was her answer. 

So she kissed Maid Agnes twice, and with 
Zodok and Zebek a-croaking on her shoulders 
vanished under the trees. Harun gave one 
regretful howl above a new grave, and trotted 
after. Nor did Agnes ever see the witch 
again. 

As for Ulrich and Franz, Michael and 
Clement, they solemnly swore to go immedi- 
ately to Rome and perform any penance 
commanded by the Holy Father, and the 
Graf sent them on their way (first smiting 
off their thumbs to keep them from tempta- 
tion) ; but whether they ended in heaven 
or elsewhere is known best by the recording 
angel. However, Freiherr Gustav, whom 
Ludwig left in the Wartburg, warned per- 
chance by Martha, pounced on Fritz the 
Masterless full soon, and hanged him and 
128 


THE EVENING LIGHT 


Dame Gerda high — thus proving that ravens 
bear ill luck, and also leaving two less sinners 
in an overwicked world. 

As for Maid Agnes, — Maid ’’ no more, but 
''The Most Gracious Grafin,” — she became 
a great lady in the North Country. Still, 
though she grew worldly-wise, stately, and the 
wife of a very duke, every year she went on 
pilgrimage to a certain shrine near Eisenach. 
And if any one marvelled at her piety, her 
daughters always said : — 

" Our mother came rightly by her holiness ; 
her grandfather was a true-born saint.” 

Thus, for many years, until the pillage and 
sack of the Peasants^ War, the good folk of 
Thuringia went on pilgrimage to the little 
shrine under the talking tree in the Drag- 
on’s Dale, and to their prayers failed not to 
add, " Sancte Hieronyme EisenachcB^ ora pro 
nobisi' 


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1 



MR. WILLIAM STEARNS DAVIS, the 
author of *^A Friend of Caesar,*’ ‘‘God 
Wills It,” and “The Saint of the Dragon’s 
Dale,” was born on April 30, 1877, at the 
home of his grandfather. President William 
Stearns of Amherst College. His father 
is William V. M. Davis, who for many 
years has been pastor of the First Parish 
Church of Pittsfield, Mass. Before com- 
ing to Pittsfield, Mr. Davis, Senior, was 
pastor of the Euclid Avenue Presbyterian 
Church of Cleveland, O. ; and the author 
of “ God Wills It ” spent his boyhood in 
that city. From both his father and his 
mother he inherited literary tastes, and 
he has always lived in the atmosphere of 
books. 

It was his fortune, good or bad, to be shut 
out from the normal boy-life, from the 
age of ten to eighteen, by a sickness 
that baffied the physicians. During these 
years of imprisonment, however, he 
learned to forget his pain by historical 
reading, and, later, by trying to write for 
himself histories and historical romances. 
His father preserves some seven thou- 
sand pages of manuscript written before 
the boy was eighteen. During the years 
before he entered Harvard he wrote six 


1 


historical novels, none of which has ever 
seen the light of day, or ever will. At 
the age of eighteen a new physician dis- 
covered and removed the cause of his 
sickness. Immediately the boy's ambi- 
tion arose ; and he fitted himself, in about 
eighteen months, to enter Harvard Col- 
lege. His schooling had been much in- 
terrupted' by illness and invalidism, but 
his mind was so keen and active that 
when he was able to study, he more than 
made up for lost time. 

Entering Harvard when he was twenty, he 
graduated in 1900, at the age of twenty- 
three. He not only went through in 
three years, which is a rare feat, but he 
also attained such high rank in his class 
that he was the first drawn for the Phi 
Beta Kappa, in a class of nearly five hun- 
dred men. In particular he distinguished 
himself in historical studies ; but he made 
no attempt at writing for publication, be- 
yond a few bits of verse, until his sopho- 
more year at Harvard. 

During that year he wrote his first novel, 
‘‘ A Friend of Caesar." He gathered the 
materials and compiled the outline for 
the book while too ill to pursue legiti- 
mate consecutive studies. The book was 


2 


actually written as a jeu d'* esprit and 
without thought of publication. It was 
immediately received as a remarkable 
attempt to reconstruct ancient life. After 
graduating, he stayed another year at 
Harvard ; and while thus gaining his 
master’s degree, he wrote his second 
book, “ God Wills It,” a vivid picture 
of European society at the time of the 
First Crusade. His first book estab- 
lished him at once as one of the writers 
who are trying to do something worth 
while, and who are worth consideration. 
Primarily, he desired to write an inter- 
esting story. Secondarily, he tried to 
render lucid certain phases in ancient 
society and to show the development of 
character and the true greatness of Julius 
Caesar. Besides this, he wished to make 
the classical atmosphere somewhat less 
vague and impracticable than it is to a 
great many people, even cultivated peo- 
ple, to-day. 

The year following his last at Harvard was 
spent largely in European travel, during 
which, however, he found time to write 
a third story. Like his others, it dealt 
with life at a time very remote from the 
present. The new novel upon which 
3 


Mr. Davis is now working, by the way, 
pictures the life of Athens at the era of 
its greatest glory, about the year 440 b.c. 
Many of the famous men of Athens at 
that time enter into the book, which has 
for hero a typical young Athenian. 

As in the case of many bright men who 
have not enjoyed good health, Mr. Davis 
is essentially a student and a scholar. 
(It is his plan, by the way, to return to 
Harvard this fall to complete his studies 
for the doctorate.) Yet his interest in 
the eras of which he writes is first of all 
concerned with their human elements. 
Who the people of those days were, how 
they lived and thought and acted, what 
they moved toward, and what they be- 
lieved and aimed for, constitute his chief 
interest in them. His style is good ; 
his narrative is always clear ; his plots, 
though containing plenty of elements to 
afford variety, are never so complicated 
as to be confusing. His readers find 
that peculiar unconscious enjoyment 
which comes from a book wherein the 
author has had something to say and 
has said it well. 


4 


The Macmittan Little Novels 

BY FAVOURITE AUTHORS 
Handsomely Bound in Decorated Cloth 
i6ino 50 cents each 


Philosophy Four 

A STORY OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY. By 
Owen Wister, author of “The Virginian,” etc. 

Man O'berboard 

By F. Marion Crawford, author of “Cecilia,” 
“ Marietta,” etc. 

Mr^ Keegan^ s Elopement 

By Winston Churchill, author of “The Crisis,” 
“ Richard Carvel,” etc. 

Mrs* Pendleton^ s Four-in-Hand 

By Gertrude Atherton, author of “The Con- 
queror,” “ The Splendid Idle Forties,” etc. 

The Saint of the Dragon^ s Date 

By William Stearns Davis, author of “A Friend 
of Caesar,” “ God Wills It,” etc. 

The Golden Chain 

By Gwendolen Overton, author of “ The Heri- 
tage of Unrest,” *‘Anne Carmel,” etc. 


THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

66 Fifth Avenue, New York 





JUL 29 1903 















LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



